One benefit of having the summer off from classroom teaching is that I’ve been able to watch The Paris Olympics live, something I find both compelling and discouraging.
For example, I just watched the G.O.A.T. of gymnastics Simone Biles win the all-around individual gold medal. Make no mistake, watching Biles compete is every bit as impressive as watching Tom Brady play in the fourth quarter of Super Bowls, or watching Michael Jordan take a buzzer beater in an NBA championship game.
Meanwhile, my flabby middle-aged ass was alone on the couch, drinking a Bud Light at 2 p.m. I suppose some human beings are bound for greatness, while others are meant to drink Bud Light on the couch beside his pug while waiting for Death to knock at the door.
Now, I’m watching the swimming finals, where the athletes don’t have an ounce of body fat and move through the water like freaking dolphins.
I just opened my second beer.
The reason that I’m watching it alone—and I hope Buster doesn’t read this and feel offended—is that my wife is on vacation at her family’s lake house in Canada. It’s an annual trip that she takes with her family, and I typically hang back and take care of the dog, the house, and the children (in that order).
But I was out at the bar the other day and started a conversation with a guy sitting next to me. We weren’t exactly engaged in deep philosophical discourse; it was typical benign bar banter, and I mentioned that my wife was away for the week.
The man looked at me incredulously. “You let your wife go on vacation without you? By herself?” he asked.
“Sure. Why not?”
The guy shook his head. “I just never heard of a guy who willingly allows his wife to take off like that without him,” he said.
I shrugged and didn’t respond. I had a response, but I didn’t want to get into anything divisive with a stranger at a bar.
But here is my response.
First of all, I don’t own my wife. This is 2024, and while one of the world’s most egregious misogynists is currently running for president of the United States, most sensible people realize that women are not the possessions of men.
This may have been the prevailing ethos of the 1950s—when America was “great,” assuming you weren’t a woman, a homosexual, transgender, or a person of any color—but it doesn’t meld well with modern sensibilities.
Also, part of what has kept my wife and I married for more than 20 years is that we give each other plenty of space to be alone and to be apart. We don’t go everywhere and do everything together, and both of us are fiercely independent individuals.
Besides, it takes such a tremendous amount of time and expenditure to constantly track and monitor someone else’s behavior—be it a spouse, or an adult child, or even an employee. In my experience, micro-managing others doesn’t tend to work and only creates animosity.
But Liz and I have talked every day that she’s been away, although not about the Olympics. They don’t have a television at the lake house where she’s staying, and she has been off social media so she can watch the events that I’ve recorded for her when she returns to the States.
While I miss LIz, having this time apart also makes the anticipation of her return even sweeter.
So for now, I’ll have a few cold beers on a hot summer day, maybe grill a couple of hot dogs for Buster and me, and watch the fish people swim in the Paris pool as I wait for my bride to come home.
You can reach Nate Graziano at [email protected]