If I Knew Then What I Know Now

Ain't it the truth? We look back on past mistakes and always wish we'd known better!
Love is blind, right?
Wrong.
I think we did know better...but we made the (subconscious?) decision to pay no attention to the little niggling doubts dancing in our heads...to not listen to the voice of reason that whispered the truth.
We don't want reason, only passion. No doubts, only desire.
The summer I was 19 turning 20, I fell for a bartender. (I know, cliche!) Maybe it was the mountain air...I must have been light-headed. I was crazy for him despite everything. Despite the fact that the first day I saw him he was wearing his sunglasses inside the room where we were attending a wine course. Despite the fact that I found him locked in his staff bedroom with my best friend a month later. You would think I would have known then...that he just wasn't the boy for me.
You would think.
Three months after we "broke up", I moved to our Nation's capital. He lived there too. I agreed to meet him at a local pub. Can you imagine? We fell in love, moved in together and I shared a magical Christmas with his family. A year later, he cheated on me with the receptionist at his office. (I know, cliche!) I won't go into the rest of that sordid tale, except to admit that I forgave him and took him back when he said all the right things. And then he did it again. What's that old saying: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Uh huh.
And then there was the boy who really was too young for me. He wasn't as smart and clever as the men I usually fell for. But he had the lushest lips and the sexiest green eyes. He had briefly dated my younger sister (much more age appropriate than me) when they were both in high school, but I ignored that little warning. My sister wouldn't care. She had never really thought of him as more than a friend.
He and I had a lot of good times together. We hung out at my place, talking, laughing, flirting...the tv on as pretense. We went to my brother's football games and sat together, our knees touching. I made the first move, I'll admit. Tipsy on beer and the frivolity in a university bar, I kissed him suddenly on the dance floor. On the way home that night, overwhelmed by desire, he pulled the car over to the side of the road. I felt like the lead in a John Hughes movie.
I fell hard and fast. My mother was horrified. Things got weird after we slept together. To be fair, he was very young. One night he was oddly quiet. When I asked him what was wrong, and demanded an answer, he offered up, "I think I slept with you to spite your sister."
I started to wonder what was wrong with me. Had I always had such terrible taste in men? I scanned my history to try and exonerate myself. Sure, I had a thing for bad boy rock stars when I was younger, and then there was that 26 year old chef who almost seduced me at the tender (and virginal, I might add) age of 18, only to leave me high and dry next Sunday Brunch. There were a few sweet talkers in my early 20's, but I didn't love any of them...
This wasn't my fault! I couldn't have known.
Mmmhmmmm?
Oh, and my beloved little sister was super pissed at me too.
And then I met Jay, who became my partner of the last 13 years and the father of my two children.
He showed up three hours late to my 27th birthday party. We'd only been seeing each other 2 weeks, and I was so excited for all my friends and family to meet him. I had bragged about him, convinced he was different from all the other boys! He was smart (always using big words and with an answer to any question I had). He was sensitive (he got teary at the end of Babe, when the farmer says, "that'll do Pig, that'll do."). He was cool (he knew all the words to Pink Floyd's album, The Final Cut).
Oh, he eventually arrived...rushed in with a big bouquet of long-stemmed red roses and a bottle of wine, and with the perfect excuse.
He always has good excuses. For coming home late. For getting fired. For forgetting to pay a bill or pick up something at the grocery store. For never calling his family. For not remembering plans I've made. For forgetting to ask for the day off work for my birthday or the kids' birthdays. For wasting money. For drinking too much.
And they really are good excuses, for the most part. Just not good enough for me.
But I chose this man. I love him, and I will always try to keep that love alive, burning hot and true. And he loves me, just as fiercely, and despite all my own flaws.
I don't even know why I get so angry. When I've calmed down, I can see...that all the signs were there from the beginning. I knew who he was right away. And I know, it could be a lot worse.
I could have ended up with one of those other jerks.
And, as my horrified mother would tell you, perhaps I did know better, but I've always been a bit of a Drama Queen. What's love without great suffering?
Rather boring, I'm sure.


Shannon TreanorNovember 29, 2008