Entry #655863, added on 06-23-09 @ 6:18 pm EDT
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| Super Men Really Can Fly--If Only In Their Dreams | Entry #655863 |
“I can fly.” My husband of thirty-one years told me one morning.
I rolled over, gave him the look-see, and said, “Honey, have you taken a good look in the mirror lately? You really haven’t gotten more streamlined over the years. I’d call it more super carrier. Are you sure you can fly? Maybe you’re floating, but it feels like flying?”
“No, no, I keep dreaming that I can fly, and I’m pretty sure that I can.” He was adamant.
He continues to insist that he can fly. I insist that he stop snoring. It seems that when he dreams that he is flying, he snores. His snoring does not make me think that I can fly. It makes me think that I am being digested by a whale—with gastric-intestinal issues.
I have actually been heard to say in the dark of the night, “Honey, if you don’t stop dreaming about flying (i.e. snoring) I am going to crush your head with a brick.”
He says, “Oops, sorry.” And then he rolls over to dream about fighting naked ninjas.
I don’t dream. I don’t have to. Sherwood does the heavy dreaming for me—he also does a lot of the heavy lifting.
My husband, of thirty-one years, spent the first ten years of our marriage working full time and going to school part time—for ten years. Did I mention that it took him ten years?
He graduated from the University of Central Florida with a degree in computer science and ten years of experience in his field of study. During that time he insisted that he always have a job with decent insurance, which turned out to be more than a blessing when we welcomed four children to our home in six years—by caesarian section—exciting, but not cheap, and for fun throw in a diagnosis of malignant cancer. (That was me.)
When we brought our first son home from the hospital we owed the hospital one dollar and fifty cents for a bottle of shampoo that I had purchased during my seven days in the hospital. We didn’t have one dollar and fifty cents. We had to put one dollar and fifty cents on a payment plan.
For eleven years, my husband worked the graveyard shift. At one point he drove more than one hundred miles PER DAY to get from his job in Daytona Beach to his college classes at UCF. He once fell asleep at a red light, and didn’t wake up until the cars behind him started to beep and drive around him. No one checked to see if he was dead.
I tell young women that I go to school with that my guy, of thirty-one years, is the real deal, and if their guy isn’t willing to go to the mat for them the way Sherwood did for me, he isn’t good enough for them or for their children. My husband allowed me to concentrate on raising four excellent children, who are now working on raising their own excellent children.
In a day when there is a lot of man bashing in and out of the college classroom, I find it easy to believe in the goodness of men at heart. I have been personally acquainted with the best of men and that has made all the difference. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure my husband can fly, because he is Superman.
Happy father’s day, darling. Happy every day, forever.
Linda Zern—wife of Sherwood (the Super Hero) Zern
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© Copyright 2009 L.L. Zern (UN: zippityzern at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
L.L. Zern has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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