Sometimes I wonder why my dad and mom got married in the first place.
It’s strange to see how they interact, like the very couple in a soap opera.
The red-headed man, born in LA, with a hardened set of morals, and
The small brunette woman, hailing from Colima, who still struggles with technology.
He, the unwanted critic
She, the master of sales.
His temper gets out of hand, and his impatience is his mortal flaw.
Her stubbornness leads to countless arguments, and she would rather stay with the pets than go to Las Vegas with her family.
He’s all too quick to jump to conclusions, and runs off whenever he’s about to blow his top,
But she doesn’t do much better;
The woman so scared of change that she would gladly surrender any new opportunity, in favor of keeping everything the same.
The woman who kisses her bird more than her husband at times, and the pre-diabetic man who hates her lack of adventure.
They stood at the altar. A black tuxedo and a white dress. Hand in hand. And they said their vows.
When I asked my papa why he loved her, he said that she was a fierce, scary little woman.
Behind that shy, excitable, easily confused expression, was a warrior.
“Your brother got in trouble once,” He said, “for starting a fight in elementary school, because this group of kids kept cutting in line He was forced to apologize and write his apology in lines on a page.”
“But oh, your mom… when she heard, she stormed off and she nearly fought the teacher who punished him in the parking lot. She yelled at her for a while, and stormed off with your brothers hand in hers.”
I can recall the reminiscent smile that fell on his lips as he remembered my mother’s rage, and the love glowed in his eyes.
Sure, they fight, and they argue, and some opportunities slip away because of their tempers and stubbornness.
But nobody can make my dad smile like she does. Nobody can make my mom play around and giggle like he does.
Opposites clash, but just as they have the potential to bring it the worst in eachother, they have the capability of making each other shine.
20 years of marriage, and they dance like two parts of a whole, close and smiling like fools.
As he sweeps her off her feet and dips her, forcing her to hold tight to his shirt and squeak in surprise. He gazes at her like she’s the only woman in the world, and she still smiles shyly, pecking his lips sweetly.
I can’t help but to wonder sometimes why they got married if they fight over so much, and argue like theres no tomorrow.
She steals the covers at night
He can’t speak in an inside voice.
But then I remember the gifts he gets her every year on anniversaries, her birthday, on christmas, and the cakes she gets him for his birthday, the cookies she sneaks home from work for him, the lunches she packs every night, and how he always asks about her day.
And the way they walk, arms secure around one another, like it’s all they need to keep the smiles on their faces.