I’ve Done It Again. Carry On.

Being married to someone you met in adulthood inevitably results in funny conversations. What may have seemed completely reasonable to one spouse can strike the other as anything ranging from quirky to downright batshit crazy. Maybe your husband grew up in a different culture or religion, or maybe your wife was raised in a different country. Maybe your parents didn’t use dryer sheets. Maybe his parents were all about margarine. These things come up when you bring two people together and start a new family.

With my husband and I, typically some story from his youth strikes me as quirky, whereas my strolls down memory lane leave him bug-eyed and yes, declaring, wow, that is batshit crazy.

You’d hardly know from looking at me today, all put together and fabulous, that I had an….unconventional start. (Yes, I am being sarcastic. I am not put together and fabulous, although one of these days, I tell you, I’ll show the WORLD! just not today) Actually, sarcasm aside, we are about as normal as one gets anymore. Extended family who enjoy one another’s company, get together for holidays, that sort of boredom, as we do. So I understand my sweet hubs’ reactions.

And it’s not as though I tricked him into marrying me, thinking I was one thing (normal) when in actuality I was quite another. (trainwreck) It’s just that, when your experiences are your experiences, you tend to just think of them as what happened, not as an outsider might.

Which is how we landed on this conversation the other night, sparked by the craziness of the VanillaISIS situation in Oregon.

(I’m also partial to Bubba Haram, for what it’s worth. Alas, I digress.)

So the conversation goes something like this:

husband: These people are nuts! Like tinfoil hat crazy!

me: Yeah. They remind me of this family I knew, though. I wonder if they ever got social security numbers.

husband: (blink blink) Pardon me?

me: Social Security numbers. Their parents didn’t let them have them because they didn’t want the government to know they existed. They lived not too far from you growing up, actually. Although probably you wouldn’t have known them. They didn’t go to school, obviously. But I remember them talking about eating squirrels they killed on their land and how they would totally survive anything. They wore a lot of camo, come to think of it. Weird. I wonder how they got a phone at their house? I remember they didn’t believe in borrowing money. Actually, how’d they have a house? I never thought about this stuff when I was a kid.

husband: (eyes about to fall out of his head)

me: (nervous laughter) You didn’t know anyone like that, eh? 

husband: WTF?!

me: Right. I’ve done it again. Carry on.

So yes. When I was around 15 or so, I met a few, shall we say, unique folks. And my parents, being of the more free-range variety, and trusting that I was up to only good, never really worried about me. And I, being of the sheltered variety, didn’t realize just how whacked these friends were. To be fair, this was pre-google.

Some days, I think, I should write more of this down. Other days, I think no one would believe me. But suffice it to say, I have learned little by little that no, most people weren’t buds with anti-government conspiracists.

Then again, SOMEONE wrote Ron Swanson.

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2 thoughts on “I’ve Done It Again. Carry On.

  1. I can relate. When I was 10, my parents moved to where the 60’s hippies went to raise families & die. I actually knew people named Treebeard & Grey Owl (& that wasn’t particularly unusual). I went to school with Crow-Boy (who would punch if you didn’t call him CB), Tail, & my favorite, Sunshine-On-Dewdrops-Makes-Rainbows (we called her “Sunny”, but I often wonder if she runs out of room signing her legal signature).
    I knew kids who lived in caves, tepees, houses made of hay–I myself lived in a log house I helped build, & that was considered conventional.

    I have long intended to write a book about all this. 🙂

    Like

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