For Better, For Worse, For A Really Long Time

Thirty-three years ago today at about this time, Joreen and I were beginning a really nasty argument. No, of course I don't remember what about. Maybe she does. Go ask her. Her parents weren't entirely sure we were going to go through with it, I'm told. But since all the arrangements were in place, we decided what the heck, let's go ahead and get married.

Thinking back on it, the cost/benefit ratio has turned out to be pretty favorable. I've seen weddings over the years, especially as a member of Just Friends, where I'm sure the cost of the bridal party's shoes was higher than the whole tab for our reception. We were the last marriage held in the old Sacred Heart church, which had been severely damaged in the '72 flood. The parish had graciously put up some decorations for us, not just to make it more festive but to cover the cracks in the wall behind the altar. We don't have a fancy wedding album to look at, but we're still looking at each other, and we're still wearing the rings, and that's a good thing.

Rita Howell, my mother-in-law, was very active in church business and had made many priest friends. That's how a really nervous, long-haired, extremely skinny kid in a $50 suit (I refused to go through with this in somebody else's clothes) came to be face to face with Fathers Sawdy, Gross, Brubaker, Fee and Rigoli, who laid a mighty smackdown of a blessing on us, apparently. It's still holding.

Most of my friends and family have heard this story, but it's appropriate to tell today. My mother-in-law was not exactly thrilled about my wife's choice in a partner for life. Her wedding dress was half-black and half-white, not because she had mixed emotions about the marriage, as I always claimed, but because she waited till the last minute to go buy one, just to make sure I was going to go through with it, and the choices at Peck's were slim.

Fast forward to July 9, 1977. Joreen and I were celebrating our first anniversary, and in the course of conversation she said, "Well, Mom was wrong about you." I asked her, "What do you mean?" She said, "When we were planning to get married, Mom said it wouldn't last six months.'" That was all I needed to hear. I picked up the phone, called my mother-in-law and said, "Mom, what's wrong?" She was confused. I said, "It looks like you were actually wrong about something!" She was still confused. I said, "I hear you gave this marriage six months, and I'm still here." We had a great laugh about it, I ribbed her a little more, and I thought that was it.

July 9, 1978, about nine at night, Joreen's Mom called. "Is John mad at me?" Now it was Joreen's turn to be puzzled. Rita said, "Oh, I just thought maybe I'd be hearing from him today, that's all. Nothing important." So of course I called her back and laid into her again for being wrong about me. This began a tradition that lasted until July of 1992. Every year I would call her and come up with a variation like, in 1981, "Well, Mom, maybe it was six years, not six months, and I might still leave her, you never know." One of the last anniversary calls I made, I said to her, "Mom, I'll let you in on a secret. I really was ready to leave her after six months, but I stuck around just to tick you off."

My mother-in-law passed away suddenly in 1993, four years after her husband, Andy. She was far from perfect, but I loved her dearly. She and my father-in-law were supportive of us in many, many ways. It got to the point where I wasn't too crazy about mother-in-law jokes, because she was exactly the opposite of every nasty stereotype. We would sit sometimes and have a beer and she'd tell me stories. She was fiercely proud of Joreen's singing and playing, and she was always disappointed that Joreen never got into a working band. I like to think she might have had a hand in the Just Friends Band coming together.

Right now, I'm sitting at the same kitchen table where she sat. Joreen is in the seat her father always occupied. We're older, and yes, turning into our parents. Trust me, I'm still getting a great deal.