Hey Mom & Dad, Thanks for Finally Getting Married

I remember the day we gave our cats to a friend of my mother. The high wind and the smell of rain accompanied a silent car trip over the mountain to where she stayed. It was a symbol, giving up the final emblem of the single parent household to make a trip in contrary motion to the queues of anxious divorcees to be. It was the move back into the nuclear, the suburban.

I think I knew then that my parents were getting married. It was only a matter of time. We rode through a traffic light, orange turning red, the faster the better. Rather not think about such things. On the mountain the radio was playing ABBA through the static. Scribble meowed, either out of distaste or the knowledge that we were riding towards the unavoidable. Either way I agreed with her. In the 21^st century, marriage is something of a fading poster.

I guess I was not looking forward to my parents’ marriage as much as they would’ve liked. I loved spending time with my dad and mom, but separately. I still struggle to be at ease when both of them are around.

My dad works offshore, one month at home, one month away, but during those months when he was home, in an effort to compensate for his absence, he would try to conform me to his standards and logic in an attempt to leave some impression on me. My father has never been good with children, especially sensitive children like me, so his efforts had a different effect.

My young mind saw him as unreasonable instead of firm, obstinate instead of challenging. He would be the same with my mom, lecturing her as if she were another child of his. It was years before I saw that under all of that he was just trying to be a good father, despite the issues he had with his own Dad.

My Mom struggled with issues that made living with her difficult at times and often left me feeling as if it were my role to comfort her. I have always taken being treated like a child very harshly. I saw the parts of their nature they could not see in each other. I believed I was holding truths which could threaten their blooming relationship. I did not and could not understand the parts of them I was not aware of.

The growth my father had undergone since my birth, his tenderness with my mom, the way he supported her. Of my mother, I could not see her strength, her resolve and the way she could strive to change for the better.

And yet, as the wedding approached, I sensed a growing excitement. I would challenge myself, remembering my fears and concerns and the experiences of close friends. And yet this was the coming together of the family I had longed for. So many nights lying on the small bed in the loft of my mom’s flat, I would dream of the day my parents would get back together. At that age I was convinced it was necessary for the living of a normal life.

But that day has come and gone: the wedding on the beach, the vows, the ice cream, the dancing, the food, the joy. And the following days turned into weeks and months, and for me much is as it was before. Maybe a little more tense at times, maybe a little more secure at others, but what has changed is the way I see marriage.

Maybe the pursuit of loving another person, of tending to a family, is worth attempting, despite the odds. It may not be my dream, but it was theirs, and its realisation sees them calmer than before. Maybe even a little more content.