You could
say I was forced to get married. It didn’t feel like that at the time, but it
was part of the experience. When I called my parents to tell them Jack and I
were getting married, my father said, “We’re not making you do this, are we?” I
replied, “No, of course not.” But I thought, we wouldn’t be if not for you.
Here’s what happened.
It was the
fall of 1964. I had returned to Antioch College in the spring after having
dropped out two years before. Now I was in New York City for my co-op job (at
the New York Times!) and living with Jack, who had fallen in love with the city
when we’d visited in the winter from Washington, D.C., where we’d met. A few
weeks into my job, my father called to say he was in the city for work and
would I like to have dinner. Sure, I said, imagining a mean in a nice
restaurant.
When my
father picked me up from work, we went to Penn Station to meet my mother, who
was arriving the Philadelphia suburb where they lived. Odd, I thought; Dad
hadn’t said anything about her having dinner with us. We went to a nondescript
restaurant near the station, and chit-chatted about nothing in particular until
our appetizers were served. As I dipped my spoon into my soup, my father asked,
“Are you and Jack living together?” The soup never made it to my mouth. “What
do you mean?”
“I came by
your address the other day and saw your name and his on the same mailbox.”
The rest of
the conversation may have appeared normal and quiet—my family did not yell or get
overtly excited. It was, however, very uncomfortable for me. I had mentioned
Jack to my parents as someone I was dating, but they hadn’t met. Jack and I
were having a great time, in and out of bed, but I wasn’t thinking about
getting married at that moment. I had just returned to college, had about a
year and a half left, and wanted to finish. On the other hand, I did expect to
get married sometime. But to Jack? Who knew?
I said,
“We’re not planning on getting married.”
My father
said, “My sister lived with her husband before they got married, but they were
planning on getting married.” Oh, so it would be okay for Jack and me to be
living together if we were going to get married sometime?
I said,
“I’m not going to get pregnant. I’m taking the pill.” This didn’t reassure my
parents; “Nothing’s perfect,” my mother said.
My father
asked, “What would Antioch College think about your living with Jack?”
I said,
“Antioch College doesn’t care. They don’t have in loco parentis.” Was my father
threatening to tell the college? I was pretty sure he wouldn’t, but I also was
pretty sure that the college wouldn’t penalize me.
My parents
were lefties, but they were no bohemians. A few years earlier, while watching a
TV program about a college considering co-ed dorms, my father was adamantly
opposed. “You know what will happen,” he said ominously. “Why have that
temptation?” At dinner, I didn’t know what was bothering them about my living
with Jack. Did they have some old-fashioned idea that Jack was taking advantage
of me? I knew that wasn’t true.
I ate
hardly a bite all evening, and I was still angry after they drove me to my
apartment.
“My parents
are upset because they found out we’re living together,” I burst out to Jack.
He was very comforting. But I ranted on about my father threatening to tell
Antioch, and why did they care anyway, why were they being so old-fashioned? I
didn’t think about it’s being only 1964, and people living together openly
without being married was still rare.
“Why don’t
we get married?” Jack said calmly.
That was
totally unexpected. We had never talked about anything long-term or permanent.
What did I really want to do? He was asking me to marry him. Maybe no one else
ever would. Maybe I should take what was being offered. And if it didn’t work
out, we could always get divorced.
That’s how
I came to be calling my parents the next evening and why my father asked his
question. Who knows if we would have gotten married without that particular
scene at the restaurant. The reality is, through many tempestuous moments and
some really hard times, we did indeed remain married until death did us part.
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It’s
another year for the essay a week challenge, 52EssaysNextWave. If you’d like to
try it, go on over to the Facebook page for 52EssaysNextWave and sign up. Or
just read some of the essays that will be linked to there.
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