Younger Men

P (age 5): “How old is Grammy?”

Me: “74”

P: “How old is Grandpop?”

Me: “73”

P: “Grammy is bigger than Grandpop?!”

G (age 7, know it all): They love each other. That’s all that matters.

We’re talking 6 months here, people.

younger men

What is it with little girls (especially) desiring that the man in a relationship should be older? Why is that such a big deal?  Are little boys obsessed with this as well?

I’m sure, as a child, I probably assumed that men should be older than the women they married, but I don’t think I lost much sleep over it. In fact, I think I married a younger man (my ex-husband didn’t have a birth certificate, so we really don’t know – really long story about being born in a village.) If I had any age difference issues I suppose I got over them.

All my life I have preferred older men, yet, here in my forties, I think I would be cool with a younger man, if that were meant to be. Not too young, mind you, I have no desire to be with a man who has a significantly smaller amount of life experience than me; that’s bound to turn out bad.

But a little bit younger wouldn’t be too bad – I’d just make sure not to mention his age to my kids…

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Vows & Vidalia Onions

Vidalias, where have you been all my life? If only I could find a man like you…

At two weeks shy of my 40th birthday I discovered Vidalia onions. I’ve been a long time onion crier and for the first time in my life I cut an onion that didn’t bring me tears.  Could there be a man out there like a Vidalia onion – one who doesn’t make me cry? (in a bad way, good tears are totally cool)

Would he need to have been born and bred (possibly conceived) in Georgia?

Would any Southern gentleman do?

If I ever do find my very own Vidalia onion of a man, I have one addition to the traditional vows that I would like him to add.

Groom: “Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only to her forevermore… 

…and take out the trash whenever the need may be

trash 1

This should never happen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I do.”

🙂

I’ve enjoyed spending the month of April writing through the alphabet with the A to Z Challenge. I’ve been waiting for “V.”

One Good Man

one

Once I was naïve.

I thought I could tell if a man were good or bad, kind or mean.

But I was wrong.

I learned the hard way that a man is not always who he portrays himself to be. I learned the hard way that he could hit and slap, kick and shove, beat and rape, subject you to public humiliations and break your heart.

I learned the hard way that the one person in the entire world who is meant to love and protect you is the one person in the whole world that you need protection from.

Recently I was invited to the 60th birthday celebration of a dear family friend, a man I have known my whole life, a man I admire and respect. You know who you are. We were told, no gifts, just a card. As I sat to write my hand and brain seemed incapable of expressing what was in my heart. It came out a mish mash of random thoughts that probably just seemed weird.

What I wanted to say was this: When I was growing up, I saw men who loved their wives and families. My father. My grandfathers. My uncles. My brothers. My Christian brothers. I was not unaware that there was evil in the world, but I had been exposed to men of integrity all my life, so when a man came along who lacked integrity but radiated charm and possessed a dynamic personality, I was easily deceived.

When I was at last free, my heart was broken once again, then a third time.

I can’t help but think of my favorite Christmas Carol taken from a poem by Longfellow.

Christmas Bells

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

At times I feel like changing the words, “There are no good men on earth I said,”

But like Longfellow, I am reminded,

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!”

And I remember those men, the ones that I have witnessed all my life, who love their wives. Who love their children. Who love their God.

And I am thankful for them. They are my own bells that chime to remind me that all men are not bad.

When Dads Do Hair

This is one of my favorite things ever, when Dads do their little girls’ hair.

I see a little girl with an elastic headband wrapped around her forehead like Olivia Newton-John getting physical and I know.

ONJ

I know Dad did it.

And pigtails, forget about it, Dads don’t even try them. They go for straight for a single ponytail that shoots out of the back of that poor little princess’ head like the firing end of a rocket engine. You know what I’m talking about. You’ve seen it.

In addition to the aforementioned headbands and ponytails, there will often be some unfortunate attempt to hold any escapee hair away from the face. If you are an observer like me, you will recognize that this is usually achieved by one, and only one, hair clip awkwardly placed.

I’m not judging. I love Dads. I love Dads who do little girls’ hairs. I love seeing little girls whose Dads did their hairs.

Yet here is where it gets weird; I firmly believe that Dads are wholly capable of creating a decent hairstyle on their daughters.

(cue eerie music)

I think they purposefully choose not to.