When I was just a wee lad, OK, I was 20, I decided I should marry my high school sweetheart. We’ve been through much of this before here, so I won’t bore you with how that all played out, suffice it to say that I got a wonderful daughter out of the deal. You can fill in the blanks from there.
As with any young couple preparing to spend their life together, which in our case was five years, we wanted to do things right. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we figured that we could cut corners here and there, and make it work.
Ex #1 had a Sound of Music obsession. She loved that movie, and longed to be Maria, walking down the aisle of a Catholic church with the long flowing train and the handsome captain waiting for her at the altar.
Looking back, I feel a bit sad that it was only me waiting for her at the altar. I was certainly no Captain Von Trapp. And she didn’t even get to walk down the aisle. St. Madeline Sophies was a modern church, so she could only walk around the semi-circle that led to the front of the altar.
Still, she could at least have the Von Trapp-esque wedding she had always dreamed of. Only one small problem. She wasn’t Catholic. She was a “white label” Protestant, not being particularly churchy. I was her ticket into Catholicism, her Maria dream life.
Knowing that we were still pretty green around the gills in the relationship department, Father Jerry told us that we would need to go an extra step to get married. We would need to go to Engagement Encounter.
Egad, another hoop. Oh, and another chance for the church to make a little coin.
Still, for a young couple in love, Engagement Encounter was a pretty exciting adventure. It would require a weekend stay together. Well, not exactly together. We were only engaged, not married, so sharing the same room was verboten, especially since we would be enjoying the hospitality if St. Edward’s Seminary in Juanita, Washington.
Today, St. Edwards is a state park. But when we were there, men who were called to the priesthood were in residence, waiting for the day when they could be ordained.
On the appointed day, we drove off to Juanita, about a half hour to the north of our respective homes. There, we checked in, got our assigned rooms and prepared to become closer to one another in the eyes of God and each other.
I was pretty shy back then and not exactly one to look forward to group sessions, particularly one led by priests. But this was the only way we could get married, so I had to play the game.
Our first class was led by a very hip pre-priest who later confided to us that he really wasn’t sure that he wanted to go through with ordination because he still really liked women. With all that has transpired since, I guess I should be glad he didn’t tell us he had a thing for altared boys.
These thoughts of wanton lust came up during one of the many topics we discussed. If you haven’t been to Marriage or Engagement Encounter, here’s the highlights.
The centerpiece is a group session. Here, a topic is discussed – sex, money, family, religion, etc. When the session is complete, you are given a question to write about related to the topic. You then go off to your respective separate places around the seminary and you write your thoughts on the question at hand.
When the time is up, you return to the room and exchange notebooks. As you can imagine, this is really a humdinger of a way to learn the other’s expectations or opinions about a subject that is critical to the success of your marriage. There’s no way you can gloss over your feelings as soon as you see your mate’s eyes well up with tears. It’s unvarnished truth splayed out on the pages of a spiral notebook.
After you both read through your thoughts, it’s time to talk. More truth, more tears, occasional laughter and then you’re on to the next topic.
Seems pretty straightforward. Looking back, I should have employed this technique throughout my life. It would have probably cut down on the duration of several relationships, as the “if I had only knowns” would have become painfully obvious at the very beginning.
In fact, given my dating experiences as well, I should have just handed a notebook to my date upon first meeting her, give her a topic and then we both tell each other the truth instead of doing that wonderful dance around subjects where neither of you wants to be checked off the list of “potential happily ever afters.”
You know what I’m talking about. In our connected world these days, you post a profile full of B.S. about how you want to find someone who is your soulmate, who will make you laugh, and who is height and weight proportionate, even though you yourself aren’t even close. You post photos that are really dark or blurry, or were from 10 years ago when you were really good looking. You say you don’t really care what the other makes, that you’re financially secure, you don’t drink too much and that you’re really active, even though the last time you stepped into a fitness center they still had those machines that shake the fat off of you with a vibrating belt you put around your waste.
A notebook would have saved a lot of time. Meet, greet, state the question, write, exchange and then see if it’s time to move onto drinks. I know it would have saved me a lot of time. I could have asked simple questions like, “Are you secure enough to let me run off to events every other weekend where there are overly buxom wenches with heaving breasts?” or “Can you handle trudging off to work on a freezing, icy day while I stay at home in my sweats, making stuff up?”
I think my dating days would have been much more productive. Of course, they may have also been a lot fewer and farther between,
In the Emerald City, thinking up a line of questioning,
– Robb