Father Knows Best --- or not

      It’s about the best thing that can happen to a man—-being a father. I am reminded of that often, but especially on Father’s Day. Beyond that, in my book fatherhood is about family, which means that besides being a father I am also a husband.

      Fact is, for the last few days it has been my role as husband that has captured my attention. You see, when it comes to ‘husbandness,’ you can’t have reached the October and November years of life without having learned a few important, even existential lessons along the way.

      For instance—-absolute, 100% spousal agreement need not be the hallmark of a satisfying, productive marriage. Most of us know that having found the soulmate we deserve does not guarantee that we will agree on everything. Any self-respecting husband learns that bit of truth within days of their blessed “I do.”

      Of course the ways any couple responds to their personal mix of agreement and disagreement are as varied as the challenges they face. And why not? In every case the blend of personalities, problems, and possibilities is absolutely unique—-no other persons have ever encountered the exact set of circumstances that you and your spouse will face.

      What was it then, after fifty-eight years of marriage, that had me revisiting that all-too-obvious truth? So the two of us didn’t agree on something. What’s new? Surely, by this stage of the game we have learned to deal with that.

      Like I said, every marriage is unique, so I won’t pretend to speak for you. However, looking back at the course of our own maturing relationship, I can see in hindsight subtle, yet important changes in the shape of our partnership. Truth to tell, we are not the same persons we used to be.

      You see, over the years the cocky, head-strong young husband and father I once was has been appropriately humbled from time to time by the relational path we have traveled together. It may have taken longer than necessary, but I have learned some things along the way. I know now that I did not know what I thought I knew in the beginning.

      Meanwhile, the other half of our blissful partnership was, in her own understated manner, also changing. Perhaps a biblical reference will best explain what I mean.

      “The meek shall inherit the earth.” We learned that in Sunday school, didn’t we? If you were like me you did not understand how that will happen, or even what it meant. But according to that logic the ‘meek’ will come out ahead. I am not sure it always works that way, but I can cite at least one example where it has.

      Let me be clear—-I can’t tell you how theologians expect the ‘meek’ to pull that off. But I have a pretty good idea of how it happened in my world. In her own quiet and caring way, without raising a fuss of any sort, my partner learned how to shed some of what I assumed was her submissive meekness and make a stand.

      Though it was not something I see all that often, I have no doubt her determined resourcefulness was there from the beginning. I knew her mother, so I know where that strength comes from. Over the years I have seen that side of her, when she pulls herself up to her full five-foot two, (at least it used to be) to let the old man know he had slipped off the tracks again. Truth is, she seems to have grown more comfortable doing that.

      So what was it, you might ask, that sent me off on this detour—-rehashing what any reasonably observant husband has known from the start? Could it have something to do with another one of my really good ideas bumping into her determined resistance? Well yes, it could be something like that.

      Except…….this time made absolutely no sense. I was so right. Why couldn’t she tell that? Whatever happened to Father Knows Best?

      Roma, you see, is an energetic soul—-especially during this time of year when her gardens are growing, and the weeds seem to be gaining ground. There is so much to be done, so much up and down, so much stressing and straining. More to the point, it is a very bad time to be nursing what she at first called a “bad back,” before the doctor diagnosed a “pinched sciatic nerve.” At its best it was painful. At its worse—-excruciating.

      For days she tried to tough it out, relying on hot pads and ice packs, along with a occasional Aleve. It hurt to sit, to stand, lay down. A decent night’s sleep was impossible. It literally hurt to watch her going through her day.

      Finally, I did what any caring husband would do. I stepped forward with the obvious answer to her sciatic agony. The exercises the physical therapist  had recommended were not helping. It was time to bring out the big guns. And I knew exactly what that meant. After all, I had Googled everything I could find about her condition, and the answers were perfectly clear.

      Hemp Oil Extract, which contains the CBD element of the marijuana family, is touted for its pain-relieving capabilities—-with no risk of getting high or addicted. Beyond that, marijuana-laced edibles have proven to an effective form of relief for someone who has never smoked. Clearly those were the answers Roma was seeking. Right? How could she argue with that?

      Did I mention that my meek and occasionally-submissive life mate can be stubborn and unyielding---especially when my normally spot-on answers don’t ring true to her. There I was, prepared to show her the error of her ways. And I surely could have done that, if only she had given me a chance.

      By then it mattered little how much she was hurting and how much sleep she was losing. No doubt she was more desperate for an answer than I was. Yet,  even before I could state my case she let me know in no uncertain terms that any answer that included marijuana or hemp oil was not going to fly. There would be no ‘pothead’ answers in our house.

      Of course the lady was entitled to exercise her free will. And you can bet she knows how to do that. But why suffer needlessly when relief is so close at hand? Heck, Amazon Prime could have hemp oil in our hands in two days.

      Then to my surprise, it turned out that my meek, but unyielding lady managed to beat the promise of marijuana relief by twenty-four hours. The very next day her new doctor, who herself lives with sciatica, recommended that Roma double up on Ibuprofen each morning and night, with no additional reinforcement during the day. 

      I shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the doctor knew best. That is their job, you know. This very morning, as I prepared to renew my hemp-oil pitch, Roma bounced out of bed, took two Aleve, and motored through the day without a hitch. Of course she took it easy, and an MRI is still on her schedule. But it seemed that for now the pain was largely gone---and with it the need to listen to my “obviously superior” answers.

      Just what I needed…….having her armed with apparently sound reasons to strut her feminine independence, while the man of the house retreated to lick his wounds. Like I said, “Whatever happened to Father Knows Best?”