Better for Worse

I never thought I’d get married.

Since I was a kid, I was told I’d be a “good husband.” I came from a two-parent household where dad paid the bills, did home repairs and improvements while my mother kept the house clean and made sure I was neat. I went to church every Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday (and sometimes Thursday) -gotta love that Baptist upbringing! My parents taught manners, respect, hard work and quick to pull out the [insert whatever was nearby] if I got out of line.

In high school, I wrote 3- and 4-page love letters, poems, songs and stage plays (I was a little “extra” back then). This was before computers were fashionable, so I wrote it all by hand. I was the “nice” kid in class – the girls would cry on my shoulder and share their boyfriend problems…great. They gave me insight to the female psyche making me more aware than the average teenage boy.

College was a blur of academia and self-discovery. I taught myself how to cook gourmet meals, augmenting the soul food recipes handed down from my family. I taught myself to play the piano and sing. My decision to study marketing forced me out of my passive shell. By junior year, I was known for being beguiling towards women. I had reinvented myself into an intelligent, charming and talented twentysomething male whose arrogance only fueled my delusion of immortality.

Then the baby came during the last semester of my senior year.

I went from a promising, soon-to-be college graduate to the embodiment of disappointment to my parents. My life was over according to everyone around me. I embraced fatherhood and, despite the speculation, began a career path that exceeded my initial expectations. I dated beautiful, progressive women who respected the fact that my son came first. Most of them were wife material but I sabotaged those relationships because I didn’t believe I was husband material.
I thought I was damaged goods.

My career skyrocketed and landed me in Atlanta with a new level of upward mobility and clout I wasn’t ready to handle. I started feeling immortal again – continuing to pursue my music at night while working in the corporate world during the day.

Atlanta opened my love life to a new echelon of women that were not only exotic and smart. . .they were hella cunning *lol* I was in my mid-20s and marriage was becoming a serious topic that infiltrated my late night conversations and disrupted my booty calls. Thinking about my dad, and being a great husband like him, couldn’t be so bad.

Then everything I knew about my family changed.

I found myself spiraling into a sea of meaningless relationships and relentless greed for money. If I wasn’t selling advertising, I was onstage at the piano or on the microphone – flirting with every pretty set of eyes connecting with mine. It was a wild, hedonistic ride that crashed into the field of a failed engagement, corporate downsizing. . .and another baby out of wedlock.

Good husband, my ass.

I retreated to a place where I could be a big fish in a very small pond. I reinvented myself again – choosing to blind myself with false, local celebrity status. On the outside I was an innovator and positive voice; but inside, I hated myself. My kids saw me as the “cool dad” with the band and intermittent visits, but I wasn’t viewed as the rock (like I viewed my father).

My parents viewed me as a joke and waited for me to miraculously transform my life into the dream they once had for me. But with two children, two mothers, no wife and marginal employment as a small-time radio exec / nightclub act / dirt floor church musician. . .it wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Who was going to marry the mess that was me?

Corporate America welcomed me back into its fickle arms and plucked me out of self-loathing. My outside was polished again: another relocation, company car and professional clout. The internal battle still waged on and the heavyweight champion of my soul was guilt. I had loved and lost so many fantastic women and a few crazies *lol* I had so much remote responsibility that I felt my worth was nothing more than a support check and gifts in the mail.

Meanwhile, I tried to sustain an extremely toxic romantic relationship full of lies, deceit, objectification and humiliation…and then there was the bad stuff I did *smh* I went from ashy to classy to ashy and back to classy – but the new house, cars, money and frequent travel couldn’t save me from myself.

In the midst of it all, I sought validation of mediocrity through even more superficial “connections.” I was well liked and considered a motivator while I secretly battled depression daily…sometimes hourly. I never thought of myself as a hypocrite because I was trying to lead people away from my demise by encouraging them.

That’s when I saw the door.

God always gives us an escape. Most times, I ignored it because I didn’t want to escape – I believed the trash in my life was my destiny. In this case, the door showed me a better future. My current situation was an EZ Pass straight towards more self-destruction. This was more than a proverbial door…it was inside a hotel – an open door to a better life. The word “leave” couldn’t have been clearer. I walked out and never looked back.

That was the beginning.

I still thought I would never be someone’s husband, let alone a “good” one. Too much pain, too much history and so much to work on. I could cook, clean, be attentive, listen, provide, celebrate the love of my life. . .but so could ANY MAN if they take time to learn the language (of women and love). I didn’t believe the horrible decisions of my 20s would allow anything but continued guilt and restitution in m 30s. At best, I could have a friend with no hopes of being more. I was given that friend while everything else was taken…again.

Downsized…again. Losing everything…again. Relocating…again. Disappointing my family…again. How was I going to be a good husband aka “the family leader,” when I can barely afford to pay child support and eat?

Most times we focus so much on what’s being taken away, that we can’t see the abundance that’s in route to our lives. Not just monetary abundance, but physical abundance, mental stability, emotional understanding and spiritual restoration…all in route to replace those “things” meant only to distract.

Lord willing, I will have been a “good husband” for one year. I haven’t been perfect, but I have given my best and I believe my best is damn good. I am thankful for my gifts and understand the importance of humility. I have celebrated abundance and functioned with the bare minimum. I asked for wisdom and have gone through a series of experiences that have forged a stronger version of who I am. I have memories of long walks and conversations with my children; instead of post office drop offs and phone calls. I like who I am. I love me. I love my wife. She was that friend that I said would be all I needed.

And she is. . .
Some may say “it’s only been a year” but that’s all I have. So I will celebrate my first year of marriage as if it’s my 50th and I plan to celebrate my 50th as if it’s my first. My prayer is that I get there.
Until next time.

This entry was written by Fave, posted on 9 September 08 at 5:20 pm, filed under Life and tagged baby, college, cooking, decisions, family, growing up, high school, letters, Life, marriage, parents, validation, wife. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.