I used to get a laugh from my junior high students when they came in lauding their latest boyfriend/girlfriend as being “so cute.” My warning was, “You have to be careful with looks. I married a cute guy with wavy black hair.” They had seen my husband poke his head in to drop off something I had forgotten at home or requested him to bring. They had seen the fringe, cut to Army specifications, around his bald head. Whether they paid any attention to the real warning behind the joke, I do not know.
I thought about my warning recently with the delivery of a recliner that needed assembly. Al’s wavy black hair began to disappear the first year we were married, but I had something different in that cute guy that I had not bargained for. Soon after we married, a lamp went on the blink. He took the plug off to replace it while I went into shock, absolutely certain that he was going to burn the house down when he turned the light on. He looked at me with a “What is wrong with you?” look on his face. I would soon learn that he also repaired and built furniture items.
In my defense, let me say I grew up in a household with a father who could not drive a nail. He had a visual perception problem that prevented any kind of accuracy with screws, nails, and tools. My mother did minor things and the good members of the country churches where Daddy served seemed to love helping their pastor with more intricate repairs.
As we edge up on Al’s birthday and our anniversary, you can see, even the fringe of hair – still trimmed to an Army length – has turned white now. I’ve wished a number of times that I had kept account of the times we have not needed to call a repairman so I would know how much money he has saved us over the years! He has eyed me with a “What is wrong with you?” look about other things, but I no longer question his ability to work with his hands and just assume that he can fix anything. I am seldom wrong. I didn’t think twice about ordering a recliner that said “Assembly needed.”
I remember the black wavy hair with pleasure but don’t miss it. I relish my bargain of having someone who can repair, assemble, or build anything. Even more, I am thankful for my “first reader” who checks to see if I’ve left misplaced words in my writing (except this one which he will not see until it’s posted) and for his unwavering support in believing every word I write is a good word. When the rejections come, his regular reaction is, “They must not have read it.” When you have that kind of support, who needs hair?