The Redhead and the Gentleman

Hubby and I recently celebrated forty-four years of marriage.  It has set me to thinking about some of the long married couples in our family.  Probably the least likely, long-term marriage was my maternal grandparents.  They stayed married because neither one of them would give in enough to split up.  An unlikely couple, they cared deeply for each other, they just didn't get along that well. 

My grandfather was one of five boys raised by a woman who took to her bed with "poor health" when the youngest was just entering school. From that point on the boys arrived home from school to do the housework and cooking.  All five boys did homework, chores, cooking, and cleaning under the direction of a limp hand from the couch.  They all grew up to be exceptional, gentle men who took their role of caretaker very seriously.  In an age when men took no part in child rearing or housework my grandfather was a caring man always ready to lend a helping hand.

My grandmother, on the other hand, was a petite, fiery red-head.  She was headstrong, impetuous, energetic, and thought nothing of tackling any project.   She loved a challenge and was audacious enough to try anything.  My favorite picture of her is one taken with one foot propped up on a dining room chair, dressed in knee pants, suspenders and a flat cap.  She had wanted to see what a pool room was like so talked some male friends into taking her to one dressed as a boy. 

I can see that the attraction would be immediate.  To my grandfather this red-headed bundle of energy must have seemed as exotic as a jungle bird.  She not only embraced life she flew at it with a fury.  The exact opposite of the ailing woman he had been raised by.  To my grandmother, the steady, handsome man with the quiet dark eyes was the image of every girl's dream.  She was just barely sixteen when they married. 

Opposites do attract, but they make strange room-mates.  Their marriage was full of frustrations and confusions.  He loved his peaceful yard and ordered household.  She loved excitement and change.  Supremely capable, she would tackle any project.  The couch was boring, upholster it.  The bedroom dull, paint it.  The curtains drab, make new ones.  He never knew when he left for work what he could expect when he came home.  Murder or compromise was inevitable.  They chose compromise.

She could do anything to the house, but she couldn't touch his chair or side table.  She could stay up with friends as long as she wanted, but he would go to bed.  He wanted lunch at 12:05, followed by the news at 12:30, returning to work at 12:55.  The rest of the day was hers.  The meticulous yard was his domain, but he allowed flowers on one end of the space set aside for his tomato plants.  His side was ordered and regimented, hers was a riot of color, overflowing the borders.

Their marriage bumped along in it's own erratic way for 48 years.  It may not have been picture perfect but it certainly wasn't dull.  They would butt heads and yell, then reach a compromise that would let the ship keep sailing along.  When my grandfather died of a ruptured aorta, the fiery little red-head found that life was incredibly dull without the steady, quiet man to tease and torment.  The flame flickered on for a few more years, but soon died out without the breeze of dissension to keep it alive.

As my grandfather said, "Splitting up is impossible. That woman is just too damn bull headed to ever admit she was wrong about anything!"