When I finished Who made you King?, I realized I had only scratched the surface of the topic’s relevance to my own life. The trail is long and littered with my self-contained decisions. Which wouldn’t be so bad if I had stayed single and responsible only to myself.
But I didn’t. And I packed my crown in the U-Haul trailer along with our wedding gifts. First, I must tell you about our engagement and honeymoon. In addition to being King, I was also Klutz.
Sweaty palms at Wascana Lake.
I had no grand gesture for the moment when I would ask her to marry me. We walked back and forth on the bank of Wascana Lake in front of the Saskatchewan Legislature. My sweaty hand clutched the engagement ring in my pocket. She wondered why we were going in circles. I finally blurted out something incoherent and quite unromantic.
My memory is that it was basically a statement of assumption like “You’ll marry me, won’t you.” [notice no question mark]. The King had spoken. Would that someone had instructed me on how to propose on bended knee (even in wet dirt) with hopeful face raised expectantly to one’s beloved. I knew nothing of that.
Reviewing a draft of this writing, she clarified my uncertain memory. What I had actually said was, “Here.” I don’t know if I should put an exclamation mark after “Here” or not. But, after the growing angst of walking in circles, I can picture myself finally yanking my sweaty hand and ring out of my pocket and just shoving it towards her.
Wow.
Brené Brown defines shame as “the intensely painful feeling that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.” When feeling shame, I tell myself, “I am bad.” Whereas, to Brown, guilt means “I did something bad.” This isn’t the place for a depth self-analysis; however, I tend to think my life has been influenced on both dimensions.
‘Closed for the Season’ in Waskesiu.
Of course, I didn’t discuss a honeymoon destination with my fiancée. I had it under control. It had to be a surprise. So, we got into my 1963 Pontiac, now hers as well, along with the $100/month car payment.* Following my master plan, we headed in the wrong direction from where we needed to be within a week.
And we arrived at Waskesiu (in Prince Albert National Park) just in time to see them post ‘Closed for the Season’ signs.
Looking back, both funny and sad come to mind. Mostly sad. And pathetic.
*Financial note: I would be attending university full-time and she was starting a high school teaching career, about to earn $370 per month for 10 months of each year (after taxes). Apartment rent was $110/month. And there may have been another loan the King had not fully disclosed beforehand.
Back to the U-Haul.
After the 3-day wannabe honeymoon, we came back across country, picked up the U-Haul trailer with all our stuff, and headed to our new home. While unloading the trailer at our apartment, my wife recalls that I said to her, in the trailer, “I hope you realize that you will be doing all the cooking and cleaning.”
On this point, I plead the same defence that politicians use when called ‘on the carpet’ for some bad-boy behaviour: “I have no recollection of that.” However, given current awareness of my default wiring network in such matters, her memory is undoubtedly superior to mine, to my everlasting shame (and guilt).
Where does that come from?
I didn’t plan to say it. I didn’t consciously know I felt that way. Those words came from a place of innate assumptions regarding the roles of men and women.
The grooves of biased attitudes run deep. In Who made you King?, I offered three sources of influence that crippled me early in life and continue to strike, far too often, without warning.
The crown wants to stay on my head. It is a battle to let it go.
Yes, over the years I have learned new realities and pursued change and growth in myself. But it is like an elastic band that allows some stretch out one end yet wants to stay pinned down in the other. Then snap it all back to the original position.
With appropriate modesty, I suggest that I am less of a klutz these years. But the crown continues to resist shedding. I shudder to share the following example – I actually threw out the love letters I wrote to my fiancée.
No love shown for the love letters.
It wasn’t a malicious act. We were cleaning out our house for the move to our present condo suite. I don’t know why but the letters were in my filing cabinet. I looked at the collection, all written on the same soft blue note paper, held together neatly with a rubber band. I flipped through them as if perusing a travel brochure and muttered, “This isn’t me!”
That shudder again. The ‘mushy stuff’ I actually said during a brief time of male madness. Yes, it was madness when coming from a boy who hadn’t figured out yet what it means to be a man. So, during courtship, we said things disconnected from our default internal wiring.
Such things should not be said by an immature boy. They should come from a young man who has attained some maturity in life, a sense of personal identity, and an awareness of the precious relationship he will be nurturing with his words.
I had no right to throw out those letters. They weren’t mine. It was an insult of enormous disrespect to my wife. Especially for her to lose so much of the minimal evidence she had. Evidence, even with poems, that I was a tiny bit capable of being such a person and expressing such devotion. Even if it was only a momentary lapse from my default wiring.
Would that the King was capable of more awareness in that moment rather than express hollow regrets many years later.
The next two admissions – what I missed out on through the years and what I have lost – are difficult to share but necessary to show the cost of wearing the crown. This is all on me. She brought so much more to the relationship than I did, again to my shame and guilt.
What I have missed out on.
Clutching the crown in decision-making, I have missed out on the benefits of my wife’s valuable wisdom at so many points in our lives. Some were major crossroads that dramatically affected our future and that of our children. Had I been able to pause, consult and listen, I would have been so much smarter.
Bible people might be thinking of Romans 8.28 right now. I may share my less-conservative thoughts on that verse in another writing. For the moment, let me say that I was loving self (not God) and following my purposes (not His).
What I have lost.
This one is more complicated since, in recent years, we have been addressing problematic areas. The reality is, however, that you cannot get back the time of life that is in the rear view mirror.
A marriage starts as a new seed bed ready for nurture and growth. It requires two gardeners working side by side to till the soil and lovingly tend the plants so essential to a long-term fulfilling union. When only one of the gardeners is aware and intentional, the garden gradually and increasingly loses out on the potential harvest.
And we shouldn’t be surprised if that invested gardener eventually gets tired. Especially when the King, in his ignorant willfulness, blindly stomps around on delicate plants. The result is a loss in depth of unity, strength, collaboration and mutual strategy to face the challenges of life.
But still. . .
Thankfully, I believe it is never too late. Even in older age, the King can be dethroned. The elastic band of the crown can be cut even if only one little strand at a time. The garden is still there. The same tools still work. Especially if both gardeners are ready and willing. We may move more slowly, and need to lean on the hoe more often, but it is still so worthwhile.
And, while giving those downtrodden plants some new life, we will dig a hole to bury that crown. And when it reappears, we will dig a deeper hole and bury it again. And again.