Happy Anniversary (for the 32nd time)

Today, my parents celebrate their 32nd Anniversary. Yes, it was 32 years ago when my father busted out a white linen suit and my mother, a vision in flowing purple, made him her bride. The reception was in my grandparents’ backyard, and the party hasn’t’ stopped since. Not when they lived on food stamps and dressed their two oldest children like junior hobos. Not when we moved to rural Minnesota and participated in the Apple festival. Not when they bought a Volvo station wagon. Not when Patrick and I spent our days making them wonder WHY ON EARTH THEY COULDN’T HAVE JUST STOPPED AT TWO. Not when Meghan pierced her nose. Not when Austin had a mullet. Certainly not when my mom owned those giant purple glasses.

Today, their nest is empty bur they are MOST CERTAINLY NOT THINKING ABOUT SELLING THEIR HOUSE. My dad spends his days rocking on his ukelele and my mom is learning how to bead.

Some people say that the mark of a good relationship is how a couple can spend time apart, and in that case, my parents are pros. They actually invented Living Apart Together, or at least copied it from Mia and Woody.

Sure, some people think it’s weird that 1/2 the year my dad lives on the other side of the country. But those people would probably also think it’s weird when my Dad decides that it’s Wrestlemania in the M*Inerny house, and tries to bodyslam her. They might think it’s weird that my dad bought a do-rag at Target, or that my mom once tried to live-trap squirrels in our backyard because they were eating our tulip bulbs. They might think it’s weird that when my Dad sits on the couch and wails, “WHERE IS MY DINNER?!”he is actually pretty serious, and my mom will first threaten to murder him and then fix him a plate and deliver it to him while he watches Entertainment Tonight. They might think it’s weird that my mom let me dress like THIS when I was a child, or that my Dad and little brother invented a game called “Hit the Boy,” which involved my father shooting the Nerf Bow and Arrow at my brother and myself while we ran from doorway to doorway in the hall.

They might think it’s weird that even though I am 23, if my dad gives me a curfew, I will obey it (or at least sneak in like a ninja) and that my Dad can freeze any of us in his tracks with one cold, icy stare. They might think it’s weird that my Dad spends a lot of time in the basement playing songs by The White Stripes and that my mom has a collection of Fez hats. Or that my mom also has a collection of bowler hats.

That’s just it: we’re weird. And when it comes to weirdness, my siblings and I are just branches on the Tree of Insanity brought forth by the pairing on Margaret Mary and Stephen John, the two people who taught us that when it really comes down to it, love is just a staring contest. Mom and Dad never gave us any unrealistic expectations of romance, didn’t make us think that our lives would be fairy tales or 80s movies, but instead showed us that relationships are about loyalty, commitment, and yes, sometimes a hearty rolling of the eyes and perhaps even a good-old fashioned screaming match.

People get divorced on less shaky grounds than my parents have seen. Irreconcilable differences? Poor excuse. I think the mark of a good relationship lies as much in your differences as in your similarities. My dad does his laundry separate from that of the rest of the family, and God help you if you wear a pair of his socks. My mom takes photos of her food. My dad will do a crossword DURING DINNER AT A RESTAURANT. My mom will give your dearest possessions to the Salvation Army if you leave them at her house. Statistically, they should each be on their 3rd or 4th failed marriage, but instead they’re now going to be spreading the nuttiness to another generation.

32 years. 7 houses (8 maybe?). 4 kids. Countless short-lived pets. Hundreds of family vacations gone terribly awry. Thousands of family dinners. Tens of thousands of loads of laundry and band-aids and permission slips,.

Thanks for fighting the good fight, for staying so in love, for living lives (and giving your children lives) that are interesting and unordinary, for being brave and strong and inspiring parents, for not making me into a statistic. I love you guys.