Reflections on fatherhood

Tonight I shared some exciting news with my siblings... my wife is pregnant.

The response, albeit predictable, was a bit disappointing.

I heard from many of them that I was going to be a great father. I heard that I was loving, caring and compassionate enough to guide a child to a healthy childhood.

But that was somewhat disappointing to my ears. Perhaps the greatest success in my life so far is that Lissie, our 5-year-old, calls me "Daddy." I share no genes with Lissie. She is literally some other guy's child. But in the same token, I'm her daddy. I'm who she goes to after a nightful of tears from bad dreams. I'm who takes her to a movies when her mother's not in a spectacular mood. I'm who made her breakfast this morning.

It's not for credit that I mention these things. It's almost to defend my relationship. The natural response when it's noted she's not my daughter is "he takes good care of her." "He appears to take care of her." No. None of that's true. I love her, as I will love my potential son or daughter. I don't think any less of her because I wasn't a part of her conception. I pray she doesn't think any less of me either.

So I hope you'll forgive me if I don't respond well, if you tell me the joys of fathering a child. I accepted that when Jessica and I fell in love. I already know what it's like to be a child's father, and I wouldn't trade those "I love you daddy" comments for anything in the world.

Single father

I've been a single father for about 30 hours, and I hate it.
Let me explain. My wife's out of town for a seminar in Columbus. So, while she's gone, I'm playing the role of the single father.
I can handle our 5-year-old just fine. We get along splendidly, and we've had some fun. She's finally mastered the art of playing her "War" card game, and she's got a great sense of humor.
Still, it's not the same thing as having a wife. I missed not having someone to bounce my day off of. I missed having someone who'd tell me, "You're right about that," or "Stop whining!" when I explain details of the day.
It also makes me appreciate what my wife does each day. I end up having the time to blow off steam at home and enjoy myself. I'm not seeing that same time since I'm trying to do both roles.
The real disappointment is the loneliness I feel. Aside from a few days when I went to North Carolina for work, I simply haven't been lonely since we met. I can't wait for her to get home.

My daughter's a genius

I hate jigsaw puzzles.
I'm just not able to look at the missing pieces and think to myself, "That one right there will make this work just fine."
I just don't think like that. I have to look at the picture on the box and try to find a piece that's very similar to the one next to it. I have to build the outside border first. I can do a lot of things, but I just can't visualize how one abstract piece fits into that bigger picture with a jigsaw puzzle.
Lissie, on the other hand, takes after her mother. They both excel at jigsaw puzzles. They rock at them. Lissie can just pick up a piece of the puzzle and instinctively guide the piece where it needs to go. She sometimes will try to put it in upside down, but she knows where it belongs, even if there's nothing else nearby.
So aside from bragging about my brilliant family, what's my point?
Lately I've been thinking a lot about the ways different people manage different situations. What I've found is most people think their way of thinking is the only way to solve a problem. They become frustrated or angry if someone else offers a solution in a way that doesn't fit their preconceived view of the world.
There's two ways you can handle that. You can become frustrated and irritable, demanding that someone else does it exactly the way you see fit.
Or you can realize that my daughter's a genius. She finds her own way to solve a problem, and I'm proud of her for that. I'll continue to support her, however she wants to try it.

What ever happened to David's blog?

We were talking about blogs at work the other day, and one of my coworkers commented, "You have a blog, don't you, David?"

I had to say I did, although I hadn't updated it in ages. And I really didn't have a good reason why I haven't.

It's not as though I've stopped observing life in the four months since I last wrote here. It's not as though my life's so busy I truly haven't had time. To be honest, it's mostly that I've gotten lazy about it.

But a couple of columns I was able to write for work this week reminded me that I do like to write. I do like to express myself. I do like to share my thoughts on the world.

So I'll try to reinvigorate this blog. Here's the real fun part for me... I don't think I'm going to tell anyone I'm doing it. So if you stumble back here again, please drop me a note to say hello and let me know I'm rebuilding this thing from scratch.

The biggest change in my life has obviously been the wedding. All went off without a major hitch. In hindsight, I'm glad everything was done the way it was done. Also in hindsight, I wish we'd gone to Vegas and done it cheaply. But that's my nature, to be cheap.

Overall, though, I am happy. And that's something I haven't been able to say for most of the years of my adult life.

Time to stand up to technology taking over your life

From the Nov. 26, 2006, editions of The Lima News
The frustrated voice on the message said it all.

"I don’t know why you even bother having a cell phone if you’re not going to answer it," an old friend said.

Something about his tone made me wonder if I was mastering technology or if technology was mastering me. Perhaps it truly was my duty to flip the little black phone open every time it rumbled in my pocket.

It reminded me of a nasty e-mail from another friend. I’d gone a day or two too long before answering an e-mail, so I received a reminder about the joys of the Internet.

"E-mail is an instant form of communication," she wrote. "That means you can actually answer it as soon as you receive it."

Technology is a wonderful thing, but sometimes it’s wonderfully complicating to your life. Everything becomes so instantaneous, you miss out on the most important human decisions: the decision to deal with it later.

Every day, we divide our worlds into three categories. There are things you have to do now. There are the things you have to do later. Then there are the things you may never do (including those wedding thank you’s I’m negligently late on completing).

Technology seems to prioritize everything for us.

I don’t want to come off as a technophobe. I had an e-mail address about four years before they started becoming popular. I used to surf the Internet when it was all words and no pictures. I had my first computer when I was 8.

The more I learn about technology, though, the more I vow not to let it control my life.

I remember when our family got its first answering machine. It was such a wonderful innovation, a remarkable machine answering the phone when we couldn’t. It meant we didn’t have to camp out by the telephone all the time. It meant we’d know who wanted to be in touch with us.

Then came the cell phone, which I tried to resist as long as I could. I finally joined the mobile phone generation in 2002, long after most of my friends and family converted. It was incredible, the ability to talk to anyone, anywhere.

Somewhere along the way, though, people’s attitudes changed. We’ve changed from just wanting people to know we wish to speak with them to expecting them to be available whenever we punch their digits into the keypad.

About a year ago, a co-worker wrote a paper about the downfalls of constant communication. He interviewed me for the project, since at the time I worked from home, using cell phones, e-mails and the Internet to stay in touch with the Lima office.

His questions reminded me of the biggest difference between my life and that of my father. Whenever Dad returned home from a long day at the factory, Mom asked, "How was work?"

His answer was always the same: "Over."

It’s not so easy to say that anymore. Perhaps three times a week the antiquated Alltel phone I carry in my right pocket begins ringing as we put the little one to bed. It’s someone at the office, asking a simple enough question that requires minimal thought to answer (which is fortunate, as I have minimal thought to spare).

Technology keeps us connected constantly. Sometimes that’s a good thing, such as the daily noontime conversation with my wife, reminding me why I fight through my workday struggles. Sometimes it’s a bad thing, such as that work call interrupting a comfortable night on the couch.

I’ll respond to that e-mail from my friend. I’ll call back that other buddy. They’ll happen on my schedule, though, when I decide it’s the right time to do it. You can rest assured I’ll understand if they don’t get back to me right away.

Meaning of Turkey Day lost in the holiday rush

From the Nov. 22, 2006, editions of The Lima News

The cornucopia seems rather hard to find this year.

It’s been easy to find Christmas trees, singing Santas and bows on gifts for the past month, as people warm up for the so-called "most wonderful time of the year." But the horn of plenty, that iconic horn-shaped basket filled with festive fruits associated with Thanksgiving, is nowhere to be found.

Most people know Thursday is Thanksgiving. The true meaning behind the holiday, however, seems forgotten. It’s become a day of gluttony, as we gather with family to plan our black Friday plans, not express our thanks for what we have.

Thanksgiving is perhaps the first American holiday, as the pilgrims gathered to celebrate the harvest on Dec. 4, 1619, in the Virginia Colony. They gathered with the natives there, who helped them survive the season with their knowledge of the earth.

Perhaps it says something about our nation when we largely ignore the real purpose of one of the most American of holidays. People want to race past Thanksgiving and right into the Christmas season. They’re more interested in the thanks-for-the-gift of the 25th of December than the thanks-for-everything of the fourth Thursday in November.

That’s the problem with living in one of the most prosperous nations on earth. That’s the ordeal with living in one of the most prosperous nations in the history of civilization. We’re seldom happy with what we have. We’re happier to think about what more we could have.

Perhaps it depends on the type of year someone’s had, but there seems to be a lot to be thankful for this year.

I know I’m thankful. In the past year, I’ve seen my share of good fortune.

My family now includes a wife and a daughter, both blessings I didn’t have last November.

I have a lovely home, complete with a roof over our heads and a silly knickknack with our surname next to the front door.

My industry, journalism, is heading into a strange, new world as we adapt to the Internet and what it can do to present the news.

I enjoy a rewarding job, full of challenges, successes and failures each day as we attempt to present a fair, unbiased account of our world.

I still have my hair, even if it’s turning gray on the sides a little earlier than I’d planned.

Things are going well. Even the parts of my life that seem unfulfilled still seem better than the alternative, an untimely early death.

Thanksgiving is the time to remember these things. It’s a pit stop between the insanity of taking a child trick-or-treating at the end of October and watching that child tear into gifts at the end of December.

It’s a pleasant enough idea to deserve its own holiday. It’s certainly important enough to spend five minutes to ponder what in your life deserves thanks to the deity of your choice.

Thursday is a fine opportunity to step back from the rat race of life and count your blessings. There’s a good chance you’ll find your cornucopia’s much fuller than you thought.

Trip to the dentist

Here's my big, dark secret in a world full of metrosexual males who carefully craft their looks: I've never been to a dentist.

My mom says we went once when I was a little kid, but I really don't remember it. I know I certainly hadn't been to one in the 12 years I've been a full-grown adult. My attitude about doctors is generally all the same: I don't see the purpose of them unless there's something wrong.

Well, today when I got up, there was definitely something wrong. Truth be told, it'd been hurting for several days, and to a lesser extent much longer than that. My wisdom tooth on the upper right side was simply poking places it shouldn't, and the nerves left the whole right side of my face tingling.

By the time I got to work this morning, I was mumbling. (OK, more than usual.) So I called a dentist's office that said they accepted emergency cases and set up an appointment.

All told, they X-rayed my mouth and "extracted" the wisdom tooth on the top right. (I believe "extracted" to be a much too technical term for what felt like bending and twisting until it popped on its own.)

Here's the surprising part for me. I wasn't nearly as afraid as I thought I'd be. It probably helped that the wife of one of Jessica's cousins was working in the office. Perhaps it helped that I was in enough pain that I didn't care what it would've caused.

So far as I know, I didn't cry (although I did tear up a little bit when the dentist started the extraction and realized it wasn't quite numb enough yet).

Was it such a great experience I'll go every week? Probably not. Will I go back and get the other three extracted, like they recommend? I don't honestly know. The penny-pincher in me feels like waiting for another emergency.

I felt like a big, tough guy afterward, though. I went back to the office, gauze stuffed into my mouth, and tried to work. That was a swell plan until the novacane started to wear off, at which point I told the folks there I needed to head home and wail in agony in the peace of my own home.

It feels better now. Hopefully it feels even better tomorrow. And hopefully I can stop rubbing my tongue over where that tooth used to be and move on with my life.

Boiling over...

I'm steamed. I'm hot. I'm boiling over...

I'm not mad, though. I'm just plain warm. I'm seeing the real downside to living with someone who prefers warmth to coolness.

The Future Mrs. Trinko and I have varying ideas on what's an appropriate temperature. She's happy around 80 (or higher). I'm happy around 73. Talk about your seven degrees of separation.

You never realize how much of a difference a couple degrees can make until you're in this situation. All through the winter, I was able to handle the differences by simply taking my coat off while we were in the car.

I've found the corrolary doesn't work in the summertime. There's really only so much you can take off before it becomes a problem. I haven't yet discovered a way to take my own skin off for the cooling effects.

I hadn't really ever thought about how different your life is with a little bit of discomfort. It makes you irritable, though. It also makes your neck sore, your head ache and the days seem endlessly frustrating.

Some day I'll understand why our temperatures are so different. In the mean time, I'll try to suffer through it with plenty of cold beverages and as good of an attitude as I can.

First Father's Day is the real gift

From Wednesday's The Lima News...

Becoming a father always seemed like it was a matter of choice to me. Little did I know it wasn’t my choice; it was Lissie’s.
Lissie is 4 years old. She went that far in life without a father figure, by that man’s own choice. She grew up hearing she only had a mother, but that meant her mommy loved her twice as much.
It’s an awkward situation when you fall in love with a single mother with a young daughter. You’re not just wooing one woman; you’re wooing two.
After my future wife, Jessica, and I finished our first magical date, we quickly set a second date for the following night. Jessica asked if it would be all right to bring her daughter, and I eagerly agreed. After all, how could I get to know her without getting to know her daughter?
That second date with Jessica, or the first with Lissie, was difficult. This blonde-haired 4-year-old didn’t trust men. She wasn’t sure why her mom wanted me to come along. Still, we headed out to Suter’s Cornfield Maze near Pandora.
Throughout the trip between rows of corn, I kept making silly faces at Lissie, trying to make her laugh. Whenever Lissie began giggling, Jessica looked over at me and I’d stop. By the time she’d giggled for three more hours and finished a plateful of chicken tenders, Lissie declared, “You’re silly, David.”
Over the course of the months since then, the bond tightened between Jessica and me, to the point we realized we needed to spend the rest of our lives together. Lissie was a tougher sell.
You can’t just tell a child to love you, and you can’t just say you love them. You have to show them every day with your concern for their welfare, your willingness to listen to them and your eagerness for them to succeed.
You can do all those things to the best of your ability and still remain just a familiar face in the child’s life, though.
When we announced our engagement to her family, one of Lissie’s cousins announced, “You’re getting a daddy, Lissie!” But to Lissie, I remained merely David.
Jessica and I vowed we would never force the daddy issue with Lissie. If she wanted to call me that special name we reserve for just one man in our lives, that would be wonderful. If she spent the rest of her life calling me by my given name, that was fine too.
She started by calling me daddy behind my back at her day care. She would talk about how her mommy or her daddy would pick her up from “school” that day. She would talk about where her mommy and daddy took her that weekend or what fun she had playing with them.
To my face, though, I remained David to her. As each day passed, I longed to hear that term more and more. I finally did when I expected those words the least.
With family throughout the area, we spend many weekend nights driving home after her bedtime. I’ll usually carry her up to her room and put her to sleep once she falls deep asleep on us.
Like I always had, I lifted her out of the car and put her small chin on my shoulder. Her arms wrapped around my neck a little tighter than usual as I walked her in the house and up the stairs.
Before I laid her on her bed and pulled the Strawberry Shortcake blanket overtop her, she squeezed me tightly, looked at me with those little blue eyes and whispered, “I love you, Daddy.”
She’ll still go back and forth, calling me daddy when she’s appreciative or really wants some-thing or David when she wants to frustrate me. But I know deep inside what role she wants me to play in her life.
Some day soon, I hope to adopt Lissie so she can truly and legally be my daughter. Still, Sun-day marks my first Father’s Day.
It wasn’t my choice to be Lissie’s father; it was hers. It’s a gift I’ll continue to treasure for the rest of my days.

Better things to do

Long before your rusted chains
Busted walls and barbed wire cage
Tried to hold me down
Time was just a fist of change
Tossed in the water just in case
You ever came around

I could lose myself
I could curse like hell
But I’ve lost the will to even try
If you ever doubt listen to the sound
No lies
No, no, no
This is my last goodbye.
-"Last Goodbye," Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band

This song used to represent my thoughts about very overwhelming topics in my life, such as an ex-girlfriend or a job that didn't work out so well. With those parts of my life now going quite well, it's time to use it on smaller details of my life.

There are some groups and organizations I've belonged to for as long as I could remember. I'm not sure I ever really enjoyed belonging to them, but I belonged to them for years simply because I had the year before too. I'm sure it all came down to this basic idea: I didn't have anything better to do.

Now I'm finding I have a lot of better things to do. So I'm applying some of that Kenny Wayne Shepherd genius to those aspects of my life. If you don't enjoy something or don't get any sort of value out of it, don't do it. Nothing's worth the frustration just for the sake of doing it.

I'll be curious to see how well I apply this to those frustrating parts of my life where I've wasted literally hundreds of hours for very minimal joy or gain. I'm looking forward to spending that time doing things I really enjoy, such as spending it with my new and loving family.

Father's Day

Her favorite episode on the Wallace & Gromit DVD is the one about the sheep. You have to skip forward to the fourth track to get to it.
She loves it when you blow up your cheeks really big, let her poke you in the face and wiggle your face back and forth as if you've popped a balloon.
When she's a little bit tired, she'll fight to have mom bring her upstairs. If she's absolutely exhausted, she'll let you carry her up there instead, clinging to you as tightly as she does that blue blanket she loves. You can change her clothes, and she'll seem absolutely out of it. But before you walk out of the room, she'll look up at you, half-asleep, and say, "I love you, Daddy."
These are the moments in the life of a father. I'd really never known much about them. I'd been young and single and painfully oblivious to it all. I never recognized the value in being so important to any one person.
That all changed when I fell in love with Jessica and, by extension, with Lissie. I've become Daddy to someone in the past year.
So I've built up a little bit of anger and resentment toward the man we jokingly call "The Donor" around our house. He called up late last week, saying he wanted to see "her." He wanted to see his daughter. I'm not even sure he knows her name or that she prefers Lissie to Elisabeth.
He never sat through her dance recital. He never held her close and rocked her when she was crying with a boo-boo. He never had to tell her she couldn't have dessert without at least trying the vegetables on our plate.
Truth be told, he hasn't done anything in the last four and a half years for this darling child. And now he wants to be her dad.
I totally understand his urge to be a part of her life. I feel it stronger and stronger every day. Each hug, each kiss on the cheek reinforces what I'd been missing for all those years.
What I don't understand is his feeling on entitlement. He abandoned her and her mom those years ago by refusing to contribute emotionally or financially. He stayed out of her life for all that time.
Now another man comes along who loves and cares for the both of them deeply. She calls out to him, "Hi Daddy" when I return home from work. She'll sit quietly at my office when we need her to do that.
That isn't something that was given to me. It was something that I've earned. I've earned her love. I've earned the right to be called Daddy. We were very careful not to ever introduce that word into her vocabulary. We didn't want her to use it if she didn't feel it. But in the past two to three months, she's said it in such a convincing and wonderful way, I'd be crazy not to soak up its sentiment. She still drops in the occasional David, but her preference is obviously Dad.
And now some other guy, absent for all that time, wants this perfect life of mine.
Perhaps I'm just being selfish. Maybe I can't imagine sharing that distinction with someone else. Maybe I'm afraid she'll like the other guy better if she ever had the chance to know him.
Mostly, though, I think I've learned the responsibility that comes with being a father. It's not just offering the genetics of life. It's offering the wisdom of your experiences. It's offering the courage of your convictions. And most of the time, it's a matter of setting aside your own needs to take care of hers.
It makes me so angry that he'd try calling out of the blue, demanding to come back into her life. It makes me want to lash out violently. It makes me want to cry. It makes me want to hide off in a corner so Lissie can't see that I'm bothered by all this.
But then another lesson comes to mind about being a father: Most importantly, it means being there for her, no matter what. So I'll continue on this uncertain path with one thing in mind; she needs me, and I need her. If that's not what being a father is about, it should be.

The dance recital

I've discovered the most terrifying thing in the world... I'm getting old.

It shouldn't be much of a surprise, given the grays developing on the sides of my head. I just never realized it as much as today, when I went to a dance recital for Lissie.

Generally speaking, this would be something I should've loved. You have athletic high school girls in skimpy outfits gyrating. Heck, seeing it in words sounds wonderful to any red-blooded American male.

Instead, I found it sickening. With every tap dance, jazz or hip-hop routine, I found myself thinking, "They don't need to shake like that," or "That's just too much cleavage shaking," or "What are they training for? Work in a strip club?"

It's a disappointing day for a man to realize you're sickened by what once made you very, very happy.

I know exactly why that's the case, though. In every dance outfit, I envisioned our little 4-year-old Lissie in their place. And I quite simply don't want Lissie to learn how to dance like she belongs on Coyote Ugly.

So, as much as it kills me to say it, if she's going to stay in dance classes... I hope she sticks with ballet.

Comic relief

I'm finding a new role in my life. Of all things, I'm providing the comic relief.

Jess was "strongly recommending" I make an entry onto our wedding blog site, mentioned elsewhere in this blog. She said she needed something on there from me, since I served as "comic relief" on that site.

I might be comic relief in her life, but most people never get a chance to see that side of me. I'm often reminded of something a girl in high school said to me on graduation day: "I never knew you were funny. If I did, I might've talked to you more."

For some reason, I've never been that comfortable letting people see my silly side. I don't know if it's some sort of deep-seeded fear of not being taken seriously or what.

Yesterday Jessica's mom and sister were here for a bit when they returned with Jessica from Columbus. All of a sudden, her niece Emma asked me if I liked spaghetti. The adults said, "Yeah, let's hear your Mr. T."

Lissie, our 4-year-old, and I have several silly games we play with one another, usually involving me making silly voices. One of those is when I act like Mr. T, the gold chained macho man from the 1980s series "The A Team." And for some reason, Lissie loves to hear me say, "I pity the fool who asks me if I like spaghetti. Mr. T HATES the spaghetti."

It's one thing to be silly in front of a child, but you feel REALLY silly doing that same impression in front of adults who, up to that point in time, probably respected you.

But it reminds me of a more valid point: I'll be embarassing Lissie for the rest of her life. It's time I get used to the humility aspect of it now.

Bigger and better things

I'm taking the week off for vacation. We don't have too much exciting stuff planned to do; Jessica and I both need the time to relax a bit, get some work done around the house and get ahead on wedding planning. (Feel free to visit the wedding blog at http://jessica-david-wedding.blogspot.com/.)

When I get back, I'm in for a new challenge. I'm returning to the ranks of management, where I'm paid more for people I work with to dislike me. I'll be supervising our reporters as the Senior Content Editor, planning out our printed coverage as well as our online coverage.

Online coverage remains one of the great mysteries of newspapers. Generally speaking, newspaper reporters and editors are terrified the Web is going to make them obsolete. That's probably a true statement one day, but we should embrace it.

I become somewhat concerned though that some newspapers might try to be everything to everyone. One example is trying to become a repository for some of those silly movies we all like to look at on the Net. While I'm glad there's that sort of thing on the Net (look at this blog... I love that stuff...), I'm worried about newspapers and newspaper Web sites losing that seriousness that separates them from the competition.

I think it's important to have fun with your words; don't get me wrong with that. But ultimately, news is the job at hand. You have to do your best to make the world make sense to people.

I'd be delighted to come back in a few days and see a healthy batch of comments about what a newspaper Web site ought to be. Knock me out with great ideas.

A Meditation on the Speed Limit

An interesting video link was forwarded to me by a friend, which could just as easily be labeled "Civil Obedience... What happens when people obey the law." Check out the five-minute video here.

The setup is basically this. A bunch of college kids are driving on Interstate 285 in Atlanta and show what happens to traffic if all of them actually drove the speed limit, 55. These kids lined up on all four lanes of traffic, holding everyone to the speed limit (aside from a few aggressive drivers who make fools of themselves in the videos).

I drive a fair amount of time and genuinely enjoy the experience. I'm probably described as a "plus-five guy," as I'll go about five miles per hour over the speed limit. I've often wondered how much more smoothly everything would go if we all drove the speed limit, and this offered an interesting perspective on it.

The video reminded me of one of my biggest annoyances while driving. I hate it when the signs warn you everything merges into one lane, yet there's some imbecile who waits until the last 25 feet to make the merge. I always merge early and tend to let people merge into my lane ahead of me, so long as they plan ahead a little.

I theorize that there would be no backup whatsoever if everyone drove like I did. The line always gets backed up from people having to slow down for the last-minute planners getting over at the very end.

'Cohabitation'

For the first time in my life, I'm outwardly doing something that I know parts of the world disapproves of. (Aside from those moments when my nose is stuffed and I pick.)

I'm cohabitating with a woman.

I moved into my future wife's house over the past weekend. All my belongings are now here, and I have my own space set aside for an office in the house.

I know certain elements of society don't like the idea of cohabitation. Truth be told, I'm probably a member of that section. It rushes things along. It takes away some of the necessity of marriage.

Here's my excuse. 1. I'm already engaged to the woman. 2. We have a date set for that wedding. 3. We're very happy spending time together. 4. It's somewhat economic, as the money we're not spending on my rent and utilities is being fairly directly spent on our wedding expenses.

It also makes me wonder about something of a technicality. Does God bless your union on the day you go into His house and make it official? Or does He bless it on the day you pray to him for guidance and he gives you the nod that yes, you are intended to spend your life with this wonderful woman?

I wondered about this last point as Jessica and I waded through our pre-marriage all-day seminar. Most of the people in the room were already living together, and we didn't hear the typical "you shouldn't do that" you might expect from a Catholic wedding. Instead, we heard support, which baffled me on some levels and elated me on others.

Off the market

After shopping around for the better part of 30 years, I’ve finally found what I was looking for.
Her name’s Jessica. She’s wonderful, and she knows it. I had to come up with a way to remind her that’s how I felt, too.
So I bought her a ring.
It’s a big, honkin’ ring, which can cut glass or a frisky fiancé’s left temple. And I’ve never been happier in my life.
At the risk of sounding sentimental, I’d like to share our story about Jan. 14, 2006.
Jessica and I headed to Holmes County, home of the Amish and little else, for a well-earned weekend getaway. Lissie, her 4-year-old daughter, stayed with Jess’s sister, and all was set for a nice weekend. Her employees chipped in for a gift certificate for most of our stay.
It would’ve been nice, but it needed to be perfect. I upgraded from a regular room to an “executive suite,” which was really quite sweet, with a fireplace, Jacuzzi and a 32-inch TV we didn’t watch all that much.
Saturday itself was nice. We went to a woodcutting museum, where it was warm, and enough sweets shops to give someone a cavity. Then we went out for a simple enough dinner at Der Fuhrer, err, Der Dutchman, restaurant where we exchanged pleasantries.
Here’s a little insight I have after the fact. I was nervous all day long, knowing what was going to happen, so I channeled that nervous energy into humor. Apparently I was pissing Jess off, but she was good enough to never tell me that.
After dinner, we returned to our oasis, the room. She wanted to check in with her sister to see how Lissie was doing. I wanted her to not do that. She won. I’ll get used to that.
Once she sat down to relax by the fire finally, I turned on the ol’ CD player to crank out a few tunes I’d put together.
First song… Billy Joel’s “Tell Her About It.”
Second song… James Taylor’s “How Sweet It Is.”
At this point, I went to a cupboard in the room and pulled out a box of chocolates from county-renowned chocolatier Christie Tabler, who’d delighted us with fudge in the past.
Jessica opened the box of chocolates. She saw the somewhat large white box in the center. She uttered the words every man wants to hear… “What is THIS?”
I told her to open it. She figured out what it was when she took off the top and saw a beautiful Mohogany jewelry box. Ring size, in fact.
She started crying. Whether or not I did is not terribly relevant to this story. (But I’m enough of a man to admit I did, for about 10 seconds or 10 minutes, depending on who you ask.)
I read her a little ditty I’d scribbled down to describe how I felt about her and Lissie in my life:

BEAUTIFUL
Jessica, you’re a beautiful person.
Your beauty isn’t just what people see from the outside. Sure, you have a radiant smile, dazzling eyes and immaculately soft curves.
That’s not why I love you, though. I see a beauty inside you that changed my life.
It’s evident as you calmly dress Lissie in the mornings despite her cries for more sleep.
It’s obvious in your reverence as I look down the pew at the two of you in church.
It’s apparent in your work, as you use compassion and determination to do the right thing.
You have a beautiful way of thinking about the world that’s clinical, cynical and cheerful, all in one.
I see that beauty in you, and I’m grateful God put us together.
I have little to offer you, yet it’s everything to me. I offer you my heart. I offer you my love. I offer you a beautiful life together.
Will you marry me?

She didn’t really answer. Maybe she did. It was hard to make anything out through all the blubbering, half hers, half mine. I just know that before the end of the song, “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You),” she stuck her hand out for me to place the ring on the appropriate finger.
Being a stickler for tradition, and understanding the legality that if it’s a “gift” instead of a “proposal” I can never get it back, even if she says no, I said, “I don’t want to be a stickler, but I’m going to need to an answer.”
She said yes. She got the ring, and I got the best thing to ever happen in my life.
Third song… “You Say It Best (When You Say Nothing At All)” by Allison Kraus
That’s our song. We slow danced to it, and there was a magic there that even a man of many words such as myself can’t describe.
Fourth song… “Amazed” by Lonestar.
Fifth song… “Make You Feel My Love” by Garth Brooks.
Sixth song… “Thank You” by Dido.
That one would’ve been embarrassing to hear if she said no. “I want to thank you for giving me the best day of my life”…
Seventh song… “Ice Cream” by Sarah McLachlan.
What can I say, “Your love is better than ice cream” just seemed appropriate.
Eighth song… “Lucky One” by Amy Grant.
Ninth song… “Wonderful Tonight” by Eric Clapton.
I just can’t burn a CD without Clapton.
Tenth song: “Open Arms” by Journey.
She’s got a thing for Journey. Sensitive men pick up on things like that.
Final song: “Unanswered Prayers” by Garth Brooks.
I’m not the biggest Garth fan in the world, but I can appreciate meaningful lyrics when I hear them. When I hear the line toward the end that says, “As we walked away, I looked at my wife, and then and there I thanked the good Lord for the things in my life,” my eyes tear up at realizing I have something that good.

I could tell you about the rest of the night, but then I’d have to start taking credit card numbers and verifying ages, and that’s not what this blog’s about. [Just kidding, Mom. We sat around and read the Bible.]
The date’s set for July 29 at a location already determined, but I’d hate to publicize it here because we’re already trying to figure out how to pay for 300 people we barely can stand to eat and drink at our expense.
Just kidding; we’ll be happy to have everyone there, so long as they give us at least $17 worth of gifts per person who will be eating and drinking on our dime.
Jessica wanted to chip in. She said we’ll have the most beautiful, amazing wedding that’s ever been pulled off in six months. She’s almost as good at qualifying things as I am, which is obviously part of the charm for me.

All kidding aside, for the time being at least, I’m happy to share my happiness with friends and strangers alike. For the last 10 years or so, I wondered if that perfect love was something you only find in sappy movies and catchy songs. Now I don’t have to wonder anymore. I can understand the pain and disappointment I’ve felt earlier in my dating years… they merely set me up for extreme joy I’m experiencing, waiting for the perfect woman for me.