I guarantee that my father has never been unfaithful to my mother in their 40 years of marriage. He adores her. He has photos of her tucked into his wallet, his drawers, his closet and even his golf bag. They are like teenagers, continuously sneaking each other kisses, pokes and tickles.
Most kids get grossed out at the thought of their parents going at it, but my brothers and I have come to accept the fact that, even at 61, my parents are friskier than ever. We shrug our shoulders and say through queasy grins, “Good for them.”
A functional relationship has lately seemed as rare as a pink elephant, but not in my family. Although by no means perfect, both of my older brothers have exceptional relationships with their significant others. Any relationships they have been in have been strong ones.
At my high school, more than half of my friends’ parents had separated. In an age where we freely blame our parents for our major screw ups, I wonder if my parents are to thank for my brothers’ emotional success when it comes to love. With my parents at the 40-year mark and both brothers passing seven years of faithfulness, there does seem to be a correlation.
Eleven and seven years younger than my brothers respectively, I cannot say I seem to be following in their footsteps. Not only have I never been in love, but despite dating a boy here and there, I have never been in a real relationship. Going back to psycho-babble though, this makes sense. Some say that a daughter’s relationship with her father is the blueprint for her relationships with men throughout her life. So far, this seems to have fared true for me. I literally never kissed or even spoke to my father for more than five minutes between the ages of three and 15. Now we are extremely close. On the bright side, if my past issues have influenced the fact that I write off men so quickly, the current state of our relationship shows that there may still be hope for me.
I can’t put too much stock in my parents; some work is still left to me, but one thing they have shown me is not to settle. I stopped dating someone because I hated the way he smelled in the morning and, even worse, he laughed at his own jokes. Another boy used the word “well” as an adjective, despite adequate knowledge of grammar. He just thought it was cool. Slowly, I began to notice the little things he did to try to be cool. Eventually, he just seemed to try too hard. Were my parents this picky?
I know this says far more about me than about the boy, but we just weren’t compatible. If I had liked these guys, none of those things, except the smell, would have crossed my mind. Is it okay that we have adopted a “shoe shopping” mentality to dating, trying on any pair we like, trying to find a great fit?
As I ate dinner with my friend Donald, he explained that his mother was finally leaving his father after 20 years of his cheating on her, disrespecting her and generally treating her terribly. I asked that annoying question that all women ask their male friends: “How do you get guys to stop being such jerks ?”
“I don’t know, but sometimes guys think they need to be jerks and play around. All you need is the right guy with the right girl.” Then he smiled at me. “How do you get girls to stop being such teases?”
It’s true—ignoring phone calls, flirting with other guys—girls’ manipulation can outweigh any serving of chauvinism. What Donald said was true, though. You just need the right one, and sometimes that takes a few tries. My mother has told me stories of her many boyfriends; the woman had whiplash from turning her head so quickly. She recalled breaking the hearts of several men on one knee, only later to marry my father, a man who never formally proposed, but rather casually began to say, “When we’re married,” at cocktail parties.
My parents have taught me what to look for, and how to take care of it once I have it. Most importantly though, on the way, they have taught me how to treat the person I am with in the present. I confidently predict that I will never be in an abusive or destructive relationship, and that I can blame on my parents too.
