Notes On My Parents
My parents have been married for thirty years at least. Probably more than that but I don’t want you to think I’m being hyperbolic. There’s a lot you can learn in that amount of time.
My father has learned how to shut bedroom and bathroom doors without a sound when my mother is sleeping. If you’re up early enough you can see him slowly turning handles, pushing gently on wooden frames, and releasing the latch into place like releasing a bird nursed back to flying condition.
My mother has learned to put his outside shoes right by the red front door so when my father leaves on his trips to the mailbox and marina, he won’t track pollen back into the house. She hates the pollen squatting on their hardwood floors, so he slips them on every time.
My father has learned not to whistle in the house anymore.
My mother has learned to tuck bar-stool chairs back in with careful symmetry.
My father has learned to put the classifieds on my mother’s chair in the morning.
My mother has learned to save crossword and sudoku for him.
I think most critically they’ve learned to communicate in anecdotes and small talk. Every “it’s a cold one out today” is laced with “take a jacket, stay warm–because I can’t stand the thought of shivers in your spine.” Every “Well, honey, the stock market is down again” is laden with “Our financial future is never sure, but at least we’ll be in it together.” Every “I love you” has the weight of thirty plus years behind it and
I have learned that when I’m with them I should be taking notes.
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