Dearest Pomona,
I caught my husband retching this morning—it must have been pre-wedding nerves. It’s an old joke, but now I can tell it with a fun, new twist: my husband is marrying two men this Saturday. No, he is not entering into a three-way, committed gay relationship— he is marrying them, as in officiating at their wedding. Last summer, a different set of friends asked if he would be willing to get an on-line minister’s license and perform their wedding ceremony. When he told me about their request, I responded, “Well, you can’t say no. It will jinx their marriage,” even though he desperately wanted to decline.
My husband is a man of few words who prefers to lurk in the dark shadows of social events on the rare occasions he goes out. He barely showed up at our own wedding, and not because he didn’t love me, I swear. I am not allowed to mention him on my Facebook page or post images of his likeness. He does not know about this blog post, and with your complicity never will. In short, he is a die-hard introvert with all privacy settings firmly in place.
Perhaps out of a sense of duty, my prodding, or some inherent sado-masochistic tendency, he said yes to the first couple. Neighbors and friends complimented his public presence and the sweet blend of humor, tenderness and passion he brought to the ceremony. So began his tenure as our rural neighborhood’s reluctant minister for anarchists and organic farmers.
He can always say no. I tell him not to because of my own desire to be the center of attention, even if I am one step removed. I grew up in a family that values performance and power, charm in the face of a crowd, the limelight at almost any cost. Though not quite as talented or extroverted as some of my siblings, I do love the thrill of getting up in front of people for a show.
Therefore, I must admit that I feel a little jealous of my husband. After all, I am the one who studied comparative religion as an undergraduate and almost attended seminary to become a Unitarian minister. I am the open and demonstrative member of the couple who shares about the trials and tribulations of our fifteen-year marriage with transparency and erudition. Why should my husband be chosen as the sacred vessel of authority in a wedding ceremony?
I am simultaneously proud. He is, after all, my husband, which means that we play for the same team. More than that, I feel a sense of being, well, almost vindicated. My husband makes very little effort to impress people. It takes him years and years to develop close friendships because he only shares a little of himself at a time. But his friendships are deep and rugged and resilient. He is a profoundly loyal and loving man once you have put in your time. I had sex on my side, so the loyalty and love came a bit quicker. When he meets my friends or family members or colleagues, I try to make him show himself, because I want them to understand and love him the way I do. But he won’t perform.
The fact that one couple and now another have asked him to marry them shows that our community has come to see him as I do—solid, trustworthy, kind, funny, reliable, inspirational. The inspiration he engenders arises from his actions and not his words. Day in and day out, he cares for our land, tends the animals, builds the soil, nurtures the crops, asks for little and gives whatever he can. These are the qualities you need to sustain a marriage over the long haul. They are qualities that seem hard to come by.
I have insinuated myself into these weddings by procuring and renewing the $15 minister’s license and writing the ceremonies. I do whatever I can to make myself an invaluable part of the process. My husband appreciates me, while I grapple with a shameless ego. This Saturday, I will sit back in the crowd as he stands before our community and the families of the two grooms. He will read my words, and I will bask in his reassuring presence. Our marriage will be renewed during the ceremony and I will stand proudly in his shadow.
With love,
Rose
Letters to Pomona 