Old Photos

Tonight I saw an old photo of some friends, taken in the 70s. Yikes, "old" is actually accurate when talking about the 1970s. How is that possible? That would mean I'm getting on in years and that can't be right.

In 1976 I married Paul. He was 21 and had already been living on his own for four years. I was 18. Barely. And I had been living on my own for just under a year.

We head to the courthouse to get our marriage license. It's back in the days when it takes two weeks for the license to come through, so I am still, technically, seventeen. But since our wedding is four days AFTER my eighteenth birthday that shouldn't be a problem, right? Uh, wrong. The dour, humorless number behind the counter assured us with the stern, self-righteous backing of the law that we cannot even apply for a license until both parties are legally of an age to do so. We explain that all the preparations are made. The preacher is booked, the reception hall is reserved. Deposits have been made. Plans are set.

"Too bad." she says and I have the strong feeling she is thoroughly enjoying her power in all its minuteness, although her face gives no evidence of ever having experienced joy of any sort. "Unless a parent or legal guardian signs for you, there will be no wedding."

"Well," Paul says immediately, probably to stave off my rising panic, "That's no big deal. We'll just get married anyway and come back for a license after she's eighteen."

It is satisfying to see the look of horror on the face of the Joyless One. And she is speechless. Also satisfying to both Paul and I. We do an about-face out the door and four days after my eighteenth birthday I became a married woman. At least in the eyes of God and that's all that really matters to either of us.

True to our word, we are back in the courthouse several weeks later where we apply for a license to do what we have already done. Thirty-five years later, it appears the marriage "took" since neither one of us is entertaining the slightest notion of giving up on it. I mean, really, would I seriously want to move on and be forced to learn all the quirks and habits (both pleasant and uncouth) of another person? Even worse, would I want to subject myself to the discovery, by any other man, of all my idiosyncrasies. I think not.

I know a lot of people would think we got married too young. And I would tend to agree. However, there is something to be said for growing up with each other. Neither one of us was so maturely molded into a certain mind-set that changing came at the risk of self-destruction. Instead, we stumbled along, making lots of mistakes but leaning on each other with the total confidence of youthful ignorance, in the ability of the other to hold us up. And usually we succeeded. Had we known better we probably wouldn't have made it. Of course it helped that we both entered this union with no thought that anything short of death would ever get us out of it. Fear of our families came only a very slight second to our fear of God in that regard.

So where are we now? Slightly beyond middle age and getting ever more comfortable with each other. Not to say we never enthusiastically discuss things with opposing views at high volume. We are both verbal creatures. We are both opinionated. Sometimes in opposite directions. No matter. We agree on what matters in the long run. Religion and politics.

And we are both far too stubborn to become statistics. We enjoy many of the same hobbies together. We allow each other to enjoy a few hobbies independently. We enjoy reading in bed, sometimes late into the night. We enjoy going out for dinner and a movie, even though our tastes in said movie often differs. We travel together by car, by plane, by motorcycle. He emails me political commentary. I email him jokes. We rail at one and laugh at the other. So the obsessive, possessive, rather suffocating "in love" of youth is history? Now there is strength that can be counted upon to stay immovable during the storms. A love that's exclusive even though I've gained weight and he's bald.

We have countless good memories outweighing the bad. We've been together more than twice as long as we haven't. The knowledge that we are together in the good, the bad, and the ugly is something that can't be traded for anything.

And all this from seeing one old photo.