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Health & Fitness

Love Takes Getting Used To

Scott Hansen presents a Valentine Comedy Show at Green Haven in Anoka on Feb 11. Go to www.scotthansen.com for tickets. Here is his view of love based upon an audience member's response.

I was blessed with parents who were always willing to share their educated wisdom. From the length of my hair to my choices of friends, I seldom had to request these opinions. The pearls of wisdom were copiously provided to me like an aggravating pop-up ad to an annoying website while I’m pursuing the next level of Angry Birds.

My mother was always crafty in making a point where she had knowledge. She was careful not to offend by forcing an idea. She was solid. Quite often you never knew that my mother had told you that you were a total idiot. In most cases you ended up believing that her opinion was originally your own thought.

Once, when I was 15, I remember being packed into a car with the rest of my family for a 350-mile drive to Milwaukee. I believed it was my idea to go see my grandmother I hated those long rides. The monthly trips always seemed to coincide with a weekend when I had a chance to see a “special” girl with whom I was too afraid to ever speak.

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Mom tricked me into wanting to go.

“Scott, you should probably get some practice driving on the highways before your drivers test. I bet your dad would love some help driving to Milwaukee. If he sees how well you drive, he won’t be afraid to get you a car in November.”

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What my mother had meant to do was to tell me that I should see my grandmother this weekend. It was her strong opinion. Mom had tried the “Last Time You Might See Your Grandmother” argument for the last three years. It wasn’t working. Grandma would live to be 99...another 15 years.

Mom guilefully played the car card. It worked. I actually asked dad if I could join the dreaded family sojourn.

Getting to drive would prove the bigger challenge. Dad protected his car like most wild animals protect their young. He snarled like a rabid dog every time my hand got near his keys.

My father was even more obsessed with driving than the car. To my father, driving was not a task or chore. To my father, driving was a burgeoning, analytical science developed through statistics and careful observation.

Dad was able to garner more information from a simple drive through Wisconsin than today’s satellite surveillance. The visor above my fathers’ steering wheel contained more important data that any modern GPS, or auto information center.  It was 1969. The car visor had a singular purpose. It was used to block the sun from your eyes while driving. That was all. Yet, my father had constructed an information center fabricated of rubber bands, paper clips, notepads, freshly sharpened golf pencils, a coin purse, a map, a miniature pen, a St. Christopher medal, a “Nixon for President” pin and a rosary.

The purpose of this customization was to keep meticulous information of mileposts and landmarks to organize the trip. With a swift glance from the odometer to his notepad and then to his watch, my father could predict the next bathroom or wayside rest within seconds.

“In three minutes we will be coming up on a wayside rest with real plumbing, not just a hole you have to hover over. Always clean with running water. It’s exactly three miles from that billboard for the Duck Rides in the Wisconsin Dells.”

He was always right and within a few seconds of his prediction. Surely, my father would never give up this power.

A few years later I realized how my mother manipulated me. However, how she got my father to let me drive his coveted auto is a mystery that went to the grave with my mom.

While my mother cunningly gave her opinions, my father gave his perspective at the flapping of a hummingbird wing… and almost as often. He never cared if his sentiment was desired, needed or accurate. He just assumed that I, as his son, needed and wanted to ingest his knowledge.

Living through the great depression and surviving a world war forged my father’s knowledge and opinions. He believed that these credits gave him the right to extol any ridiculous idea that popped into his head.

These judgments were usually started with a qualifier to add importance and justification to the statement. The most common was a reference was to the hard life during the depression. It usually started with “When I was a kid” or “You kids have it easy today.” These were present when I requested an extra dime or quarter to be added to my weekly fifty-cent allowance.

Using my father’s comparison of the wages he made during the depression to my allowance, I once proved that his grandfather actually paid his boss to have a job.

I presented the fact, using my high school algebraic skills, to my father. I was asked,” Is that why I pay taxes? So you can make up some facts.”

The “war card” was used less often but with effective stubbornness. I once made the mistake of thinking about looking at a foreign built car. The mistake was telling my veteran father.

“I didn’t fight the Nazi’s so my son could buy a foreign car!” he protested.

I informed my father that he fought in Italy, the car was Japanese and….

I bought a Dodge mininvan.

I tried to argue with him for several years. You would have given up too. My father went to his grave thinking that I believed every nutty notion that he had to offer. It was easier that way.

My parents were a tremendous and needed resource for opinions regarding finance, education, child-raising and home improvement. But, as we all know. Your parents can never be asked about affairs of the heart.

That is why when I will see an elderly couple sharing an evening at one of my shows I often try to illicit a grain of wisdom regarding love and marriage.

A few nights ago I noticed an elderly couple in the audience. They were obviously nearing the octogenarian stage of life. They were dressed in matching sweaters and holding hands. I was certain that they had a Wikipedia of advice.

“Excuse me, sir. How long have you been married?’ I asked.

“Fifty-eight years.” he replied.

“What is your secret to a long marriage?” I asked.

The man paused and looked at his wife. He had already given me one nugget of wisdom without uttering a sound. It was, be sure to see if your spouse is listening when you give marital advice in public.

He then took a deep breath and said, “Three simple words.”

Every woman in the audience released the sound that they make when they see a baby picture or some submissive, stupid, male character admits his love in a chick flick. I swear that every candle within twenty miles flickered. I could hear a wave of “That is so cute” rushing towards me from the audience creating a tsunami of disgusting sweetness.

I assumed that the three words were “I Love You”. As a stage professional I knew that if the words came from the elderly man’s lips that it would have a greater impact. I decided to extend the feel good aura with an obvious question.

“ And what are the three, important words that have kept you two together for 58 years?”

Without a pause the man stated,” You’re right, dear.”

The silver-haired woman formed a fist with her arthritic hand and punched the elderly man in the chest and nearly knocked him off of his chair. The love left the room like hydrogen from the Hindenburg.

“I’m sorry.” I said. “I assumed that you have had a long, loving relationship.

After a grunt, “ We do love each other. It’s just different now.”

“You must still be affectionate…you still hold hands in public.” I noted

“We’re both in our 80’s. We hold hands to make sure that one of us doesn’t wander off.”

My curiosity was growing like an icy snowdrift.

“But you dress the same. Isn’t that a sign of your long union? What about the cute, matching, red sweaters?”

“Red is Friday. We color code so we remember to put on clean clothes.”

As many of the men were laughing and many of the women were shaking their heads into their hands, I realized that this couple had given me the secret to a long marriage. It is an important secret that I never sought from my parents because I was afraid to ask them.

Adaptation.

This couple started out just like every other couple. They were once young, handsome, beautiful, and full of dreams and swelling with love. It is hard to believe that our parents also stared out like that way…but they did. Our grandparents probably did, too.

Then, married life began. Kids blitzed the couple like linebackers on third and twenty-five. A mortgage slammed them against a wall. Bills came flying like confetti in Times Square. The reality of life wore them down like a Black and Decker sander on a toothpick. In other words: reality struck.

Along life’s’ highway this old couple did what most couple had to do. They learned to adapt. They stopped arguing over stupid things. While some people say “choose your battles”, they learned it’s better not to battle.

A simple. “ You’re right, dear”, combined with a confirming glance stopped an impending argument in it’s tracks. Imagine how much time they did not argue.

As I look back, I never remember seeing or hearing my parents involved in an argument. I am sure they did. They had the same problems as other couples. Maybe they knew those three important words.

This couple has become an inspiration to me. Because when the unfairness of old age had robbed some people of their greatness, they embraced the challenge. They did it to make sure that they could spend most of their remaining time independent…and together.

They best part of this couples relationship…in my opinion…as long as you didn’t ask for it…was that they were also willing to joke about it.

And that…made it even more wonderful to me.

Scott Hansen -Copyright 2012.

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