How to Know if You've Married a Dork

Ladies of the World,

It's a Wednesday night. But not just ANY Wednesday night, mind you. It's April 15th, 2009. Yes, yes, yes, it's El Dia de Taxos, but it ALSO marks the official end of classes for BYU students. Nothing's due today! Unforeseen hours lay unscheduled before you! And what will you do with this time, Ladies of the World? You there, in the back. What would you do? What's that? A night out on the town with your husband? Your amazingly good-looking, funny, charismatic husband? Well, naturally!

What shall you do? Dinner? (Don't worry--you've gift cards aplenty!) A movie? (Dollar theater!) Perhaps a candlelit rendezvous in your sleeping quarters mmmmm??

No.

If you're married to MY husband, your school-free Wednesday evening will include idling away the hours at Barnes and Noble.

His idea. I swear.

Quote: "Hey! If we're lucky those comfy chairs in the business section will be open!!!"- Brock Boyce 4/15/2009

Why, exactly, is my husband so bent on going to Barnes and Noble, you ask? Get this: he wants to "brush up on his calculus." Yes, my friends. He wants to go to Barnes and Noble with his rented-from-the-Provo-City-Library-old-edition calculus textbook and READ IT.

?!?!?!?!?!?!

April 15th, 2009. I had my suspicions about Brock before, but today they were confirmed: I'm married to a dorkasaurus.

HAHAHAHA!!!
(Brock probably thinks this is the funniest picture ever.)

First in Battle

He was turning 88.

His wife—an elegant, poised, seemingly majestic woman—sat across from him. Surrounding the rest of the table were their children and their spouses. One of his birthday gifts sat directly in front of him: a huge carton of RedVines. (I guess the man was known for his sweet tooth.)

Some co-workers and I came out to sing the Brazilian “happy birthday” song to him. His eyes glimmered and an infectious smile crept across his crinkly face as we butchered the Portuguese we were singing in. My mind was elsewhere. Refills to table 13, bring check to table 25, dessert tray to 15, ring in lemonades for 24 . . .

The song ended. I said a quick, customary “Happy birthday, sir” and went off to take care of the rest of my tables. But as I turned to leave, the old man caught me by the arm.

“Young lady,” he said.

My heart quickened as he pulled me closer.

“You go home and tell all your friends that this was the day you were kissed on the hand by a Marine! “

He gingerly lifted my hand to his lips, as if he was about to sip from a cup made of fine China. Looking directly into my eyes, he softly kissed the front of my hand and then slowly brought it back down to my side.

“And that’s how you do it!” he beamed. There was that smile again. “Would you like to hear a poem?”

“Of course I would!”(As if I was going to say “no” to that!)

It was a love poem. Not an overused classic like Sonnet #18 or a soliloquy from Romeo and Juliet—it had a different tambour to it. It sounded like something a soldier would write to his wife waiting back home. Or lyrics to an old Sam Cook song. I glanced over at his wife. She’d heard it before.

So there I was, standing face-to-face with a member of the greatest generation our country has ever seen. Having a love poem recited to me, no less! Had Brad Pitt sat down at one of my tables I couldn’t have cared less.

 The poem ended, but I didn’t want to leave. I searched for a conversation-starter:

 “My grandpa was a Marine, too. He fought in WWII and Korea. Which wars did you fight in?”

 “Really, now? I was in WWII y’see. I was at Iwo Jima. You know what Iwo Jima is?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Got shot right through here,” he pointed to his left thigh, “and still got shrapnel floating around in here,” he patted his right shoulder. “Y’know what they say. Once a Marine, always a Marine! Them Navy guys are always out on the water, them Air Force guys are always out flying around, and then you got them Army guys on land doin’ who knows what. But we Marines are always first in battle, y’see. Just like our song says.”

 

From the Halls of Montezuma
To the Shores of Tripoli;
We fight our country's battles
In the air, on land and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom 
And to keep our honor clean; 
We are proud to claim the title 
of United States Marine.

 

This man was part of a diminishing generation of great patriots. It’s a shame I only knew him for five minutes. Unfortunately, patriotism like his is often frowned upon these days. It seems to be in vogue to criticize, belittle and even feel ashamed of our country. Just ask Sean Penn, Gwenyth Paltrow, or a host of other high-profile celebrities. For those of you who wonder why I’m stuck in the old-fogey traditional mindset of years past: this Marine is the reason.

 He didn’t step on the battleground of Iwo Jima so that moral relativism could pervade our society

He didn’t get shot in the thigh with the hopes that future progressive thinkers would have the “freedom” to hate America. I recently saw one of these progressive thinkers, the leader of an anti-war activist group call Code Pink, on a news show. This group desperately protests for the removal of U.S. troops from Iraq and Afghanistan. Instead, they call for “diplomacy” and “peacemaking.”

With the Taliban. Interesting. I hope that works out for them.

Such people are so jaded by their idealism that there becomes a gray line between good and evil. That way, everyone can do what they want and be happy, right? We all deserve the opportunity to exercise our freedoms! Our rights! It’s what the Founding Fathers wanted! (If a Utopian free-for-all is what you think the Founding Fathers wanted, then you’re in dire need of a history lesson.) If there truly is a gray line between good and evil, the Marine who serenaded me wouldn’t have war scars all over his body. If there truly is a gray line between good and evil, 3000 people would still being going home to their families tonight after their workday at the World Trade Center.

 My point is that you can’t be “first in battle” if there’s nothing to fight for. I know it. This Marine knew it. And the 144,000 troops deployed in Iraq know it too. If America is to remain a beacon of democracy, her citizens need to be proud of their heritage and fight for the good.

Semper fidelis.

 

Babies, Babies, Everywhere

Wassup Nadya! Or should I say Angelina? How are those octoplets treating you? Oh, they're still in the hospital? Some of them are in the ICU? Wow, that must be expensive. $1 million and counting? Dang. Hopefully your husband has a a good job! What's that you say? No father in the home? Oh. Great. California tax-payers are footing the hospital bills and welfare? Hmmm. How are the other six kids? What's that? You don't know? Your mother is their primary caregiver?

Alfie! Wow. When I was thirteen I wanted to go see A Goofy Movie at the dollar theatre, not be a parent. Where were your parents the night you impregnated your girlfriend? Well, nevermind. I guess that doesn't matter anymore. 13. Shoot. I didn't know little boys' whistles even worked at that age. But I guess they work enough. How does it feel knowing that you'll be just 31 years old when your kid graduates high school? That is, if he DOES graduate high school. Having a 13-year old dad and 15-year old mom could really mess someone up, you know. But I'm sure you guys know what you're doing. After all, you're in LOVE right? And parenting is nothin'.

To quote Marvin Gaye: what's goin on???

Has everyone taken crazy pills lately? The 10 o'clock news has turned into a circus! Babies here, babies there. Nadya Suleman, Alfie Patten, Bristol Palin, Jamie Lynn Spears, on and on and on. For those of you who are unaware: parenting is a HUGE deal. It is NOT a trend. It is NOT something that just anyone can do at any time. Having a child and knowing how to care for one are two ENTIRELY different things.

To all my friends who are sexually active: if you're not looking to have a kid, you better be practicing safe sex or else I will find you and kick you in the face. If you ARE looking to have a kid, I pray to God that you know what you're getting yourself into.

To all my friends who aren't sexually active: if you're smart, you'll stay that way until marriage.

If you're in the difficult position of going through an unplanned (unwanted?) pregnancy--panicked by the daunting responsibilites that will soon be upon you--I congratulate you. At least you have some idea of what parenthood entails. I also invite you to watch a commercial the NBC rejected to air during this year's past SuperBowl: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2CaBR3z85c

We're currently in a war with Iraq, the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression, and our educational system is in need of dire reform. Yet none of these dilemmas hold a candle to the effects of the degeneration of the traditional familiy unit. You want REAL problems? Then watch what happens when families deterioate. $787 billion won't do you jack.

Husband-wife-child.

Not boyfriend-girlfriend-child.

Not fiancee-fiancee-child.

Not mother-child.

Not father-child.

Please, people. Let's get it right.