WARNING: THE FOLLOWING STORY CONTAINS NUDITY AND PERHAPS A LITTLE TOO MUCH INFORMATION.
I, just as many guys I know, am a project, a work in progress. The sculptor and artist? My beautiful and beloved wife, Patti. For more than 20 years now, we have been married. And in those 20 years, I have learned many things – how to load a dishwasher properly, how to clean a house in the proper sequence of activities and rooms, and how to make a pot of coffee on a weekend morning whether I want coffee or not – just to name a few.
One of the first lessons I can recall from the beginning of my married life is “NEVER leave your towel on the bed after a shower.” I mean NEVER. It was the first weekday morning in our apartment after our wedding, and I was headed to work. I showered, got dressed and headed to the office. When I came home, Patti asked me why I had left my wet towel on the bed. I said something stupid. I say stupid, but what I really mean is I told her the truth. And that was stupid.
“Habit, I guess.”
I don’t know how to explain what I saw next. I was looking at Patti. I was thinking this was just a normal conversation between a couple of newlyweds getting used to each other’s living habits and customs, but in the moment after I uttered those words, I knew something was wrong. Patti’s entire being tensed. It was as if she was hearing a family of werewolves drag their sharpened claws along the entire length of a college lecture hall chalkboard, while they howled in some cacophonous squeal at the rising moon. It was obvious. She didn’t like my answer.
I had no idea what was coming next, but I didn’t think it was going to be nearly as polite as it was.
“Can you not do that, please? A wet towel on the bed is just gross.”
That’s what she said. But that is not at all what I heard. I got the message loud and clear. No more towels on the bed. Or else. I’m a fast learner.
Now, this is the part of the story where I may go a bit overboard with the details, so feel free to stop reading.
At this point in the relationship, I was faced with a new dilemma. I knew that old habits die hard. So, if I were to wear the towel out of the bathroom, chances were it was going to end up on the bed. A new habit in the works. I would dry off, hang the towel over the shower door or towel rack and walk out of the bathroom to my dresser to get dressed.
The problem, I was now walking about, um, without a towel. (I warned you. Listen, you can stop reading any time you’d like.)
On some mornings, while I was showering, Patti would get up, make the bed and open the blinds. I would finish my shower and walk into the bedroom – sans towel – with the blinds open.
“Jim!” Patti would exclaim, “The blinds are open!”
As if I haven’t already revealed enough about myself, I should tell you one more thing. I’m a smartass. Patti knew that when she married me, and truth be told, I think it’s one of the reasons she likes me as much as she does. So, when she told me the blinds were open with such concern, I simply looked at her – sans towel, in a room with open blinds, in an apartment complex where all windows seemed to face directly toward ours, and said, “Hey, if these people don’t have anything better to look at, then have at it. If I were them and looked in to see this, I’d shut MY blinds.”
I smiled. She smiled, shook her head and walked out.
Looking back, I think I was supposed to learn a lesson that day. Don’t walk around naked in rooms with open blinds. But the “no towels on the bed” lesson was just settling in, and I don’t think my mind was prepared to accept any further training. I am proud to say that in the 20 years since, I don’t think I’ve left a towel on the bed more than 2 or 3 times. Pretty good stats.
Unfortunately for Patti – and perhaps all of our neighbors in the various cities, apartment complexes and neighborhoods in which we’ve lived – I have never changed my other habit. So, for 20 years, I have repeatedly said with a smile – and little else, “Hey, if these people don’t have anything better to look at…”
It’s become a mantra for me.
Like I said, I’m a work in progress. I don’t pretend to be perfect. But Patti hasn’t given up. And I’m not the only project anymore.
Every night, when Jackson heads up to take his shower, Patti will say, “Close your blinds before you take your shower.” Different approach, but the same goal. And with Jackson, the lesson has stuck. Sometimes he’ll come into our room when I’m getting out of the shower and he’ll say, “Dad! The blinds are open.”
“Hey, Jackson,” I’ll say. “If there are people out there who really have nothing better to look at than me, then…”
He’s learned well. Much better than me. And he’s consistent. For years, he’s given me the same repeated reminder of the open blinds. And for years, I’ve uttered the same words: “If they really have nothing better to look at…”
Last Spring, we visited Seattle and stayed in a hotel down by the Market. Our room had a window that looked out over a side street where crowds of tourists would make their way down to see the original Starbucks or the guys throwing fish or the fresh cut flowers in their overwhelming abundance. In my opinion, they weren’t passing by to look in hotel room windows to see if some guy had just stepped out of the shower.
On one of those fine days, I stepped into the room on my way to the dresser. Patti reminded me once more that the blinds were open. I was ready. I knew exactly what I was going to say. I’ve said it for the last 20 years. Today was not going to be the day that I learned my lesson.
“Jim,” Patti said. “Those people out there can see into the room.”
“I know. I know,” I said. “But you know what? It’s like I always say.”
“What?” Jackson said.
“Oh, c’mon. What do I ALWAYS say when you or your mom remind me that the blinds are open whenever I’m getting dressed?”
“Ohhh,” Jackson said with a long thoughtful drawl. And without missing a beat, he added, “Always leave ‘em laughing?”
Always leave ‘em laughing. Genius. Brilliant. Smart Ass.
Patti and I laughed. And laughed. Jackson beamed. He couldn’t have been prouder of himself. He had us laughing!
Looking over at him in that moment as he drank in the satisfaction of thinking of the perfect quip at just the right time, I couldn’t help but realize how much of myself has been poured into him. There I was in him. The love of the laugh. The thirst for the quick wit. The satisfaction in the genuine smiles on the faces of others. Inside of him is a part of me. Hopefully all of the best parts of me, however few and far between they may be. I hope he gets them all in large doses.
As a father, I don’t think anything is more powerful than the moment at which you realize you have had an indelible impact on the life of your child. Maybe it doesn’t seem like much. Maybe it isn’t much. But I know that I have given Jackson a kernel of happiness and a desire to share that with others. And just knowing that is good enough for me.
The rest of what will make him truly great, he will, most certainly, learn from Patti.
