Our son Henry is eight, and he is all imagination. For most of his life, he’s been wearing costumes everywhere he goes—capes, masks, gloves, imaginary jet boots, power rings. We almost don’t notice it anymore. He loves Halloween, and a couple years ago he asked a few times if we could have decorations. We told him we’re not really decoration people. We hoped he’d forget about it.
It didn’t matter to my mom and sister whether or not I had a future as an athlete, or if I knew the difference between hopscotch and the long jump. They were there because they loved me and because as much as possible they wanted to never see the bleachers of my life empty of their support. I come from a family of celebrators and I hope to celebrate others in the many ways they’ve celebrated me.
What that person was trying to say (I think) was, “treat your spouse, and your marriage, like there are no guarantees, like relationships are fragile and like this whole thing could come to an end.” I think they were saying, “If you want your marriage to stay together, you have to acknowledge the fact that this could all fall apart.”
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