A Tale of 2 Couples

I am currently in my longest relationship ever. 5 years together. I'm 47. I've learned what not to do in a relationship. I think I've finally, after much trial and error, learned what makes a relationship work. Some folks are lucky and find the right one early on. This is a story about 2 such couples.

Beth & Ray were high school sweethearts. I was friendly with them both but not extraordinarily close. You could tell they dug each other. After graduation, I didn't think I'd ever see them again and wasn't particularly heartbroken. Nothing against them...they're both great people. Life just took us in different directions.

Fast forward nearly 30 years. I heard from Beth online. It's always nice to hear from someone from an earlier part of your life. You play catch up and see where life took that person. Much to my pleasant surprise, Beth and Ray got married, raised a family and have been living the dream, so to speak. I am, honestly, truly happy for them.

Now there's another couple I know, from high school, who are still together. When these two met, it was obvious that they were made for each other. Two more blissfully boring people were never born! They were both good friends of mine in school, and among friends, we all joked that warm milk was too exciting for them. Their names are Dan & Randy. They've been together for over 30 years now. Still happy. Still blissfully boring as hell. Nice house in a nice suburb. Boring jobs. Come home, peck on the cheek, dinner, a little TV, maybe a beer. Again, living the dream.

The only differences are simple: Beth & Ray were able to get married. Dan & Randy currently still cannot. Are their levels of commitment any different? Doesn't seem so to me. 3 decades together is 3 decades together. Beth & Ray raised a family. Dan & Randy don't have kids of their own. That's really about the only difference.

So why all the fuss about gay marriage? If two people are willing to spend their lives together, let them.

Comments

An Old Photo

The photo was old and scratched up. It looked like it had been handled and mishandled for years, and it probably had. Passed from hand to hand, tucked into scrapbooks, displayed in frames, stuffed into drawers, and rescued again. It had been looked at thousands of times. It was still his favorite. It wasn't historically important. Just a photograph of friends sitting in someone's back garden, sharing a few laughs and a few cold beers. The image was every bit as grainy as the memories attached to it. The colors had faded with age, drifting toward reds and yellows. Time had left its fingerprints everywhere. He was the only one left in the photograph. When his time came, would anyone remember those old glory days? Those years when importance itself seemed unimportant. When photographs weren't taken to prove anything, advertise anything, or preserve a carefully crafted image. They were taken simply because someone thought a moment was worth keeping. There was no guarantee the p...

The American

In his native America, he'd always had a shady reputation. As a young man, he worked as muscle for hire, worked as a bouncer in gambling houses and brothels, and always had a side hustle moving drugs or weapons. He could always be counted on to find a buyer for stolen goods, too. He was smart enough to see the cracks forming in the government long before most. Within days of the First Attack, he'd made plans to leave the country. Some of his cohorts with Sicilian lineage helped him get to Europe. From there he was on his own. He managed to bring along a tidy sum in cash and jewels. This gave him the advantage of time to form new contacts. He was told time and time again that the capital of Bulgaria - Sofia - would be a good place to set himself up. There were gangs there who could make use of his skills, and provided he kept out of trouble and his name out of the local gossip, he would do fine. And he did. He pretty much became, as he liked to call himself, a consultant. He ...

New Book! (and what comes next)

My 1st print book now exists. What a strange way to put it. I've always enjoyed writing, even when I was a kid and it wasn't cool . Honestly, I never thought I'd do anything with it. It was just another outlet for all of the ideas banging around in my head. For decades, a lot of these thoughts became songs. Now I've returned to the simplicity of words. I write because I enjoy telling stories - pretty much the same with songwriting. The only difference is that now I don't have to go on a stage or into a recording studio. There I days I miss both, but who knows...maybe one day I'll do it all again. Writers write for different reasons. Some for acclaim or notoriety. Some for profit. Same as with music, painting, sculpting, acting - I think those goals are a matter of seeking validation. But for what? Doing what you enjoy is validation enough. For years I've written this blog. In some ways, it's the perfect medium for me. I do it, it's done, published, ...

The Real Memphis Mike (don't settle for imitations)

Search This Blog