Unfaithful
My dad did it. A lot of my friends' dads did it. Several other close relatives did it. Now New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer stands in the spotlight for cheating on his wife. And his wife Silda (whom I just read about recently on Cookie magazine talking about greening the governor's mansion) is also the target of many a pundit and ordinary folk on the street. Should she stand by her man? Why?
My mom never believed all the people who came up to her through 29
years of marriage, saying they saw Dad with some woman, driving on the
street, having dinner, whatever. She always asked Dad, who always
denied it, and she chose to believe. It was only on the 29th year of
their marriage, faced with photos and irrefutable proof of his
cheating, that she faced the fact of his philandering. And she divorced
him. But I thank her for my years of innocence, of having both Mom and
Dad at home, for moments of great family fun and deep family love,
because even Dad wanted to keep his family intact. (He even asked Mom
if they could go on the way they were, with him spending Thursdays with
his longtime mistress!) And Mom never spoke angrily about Dad, never
sought to have us terminate our relationship with him. And I am
grateful to her for that too.
Hubby and I laugh when a cousin here, and an uncle there, sought to justify their infidelity by saying, "Well, my wife doesn't take care of me like she should. She doesn't make me coffee in the morning, she doesn't cook and cater to me." It's a running joke in our household since Hubby doesn't drink coffee and is very happy to get his own dinner (cooked by me or Panda Express or Sushiya). Sure, I try to make him his instant oatmeal in the mornings (the better to lower his cholesterol) but he also herds the two boys on Saturday mornings so Mama can sleep in, or make me my cup of hot cocoa before bed. Marriage is a tricky thing, difficult yes, but sublime and magnificent and fun, when you choose to love the person you married.
And in the face of those people who say, well, women should serve their husbands or they wouldn't look somewhere else for comfort, validation, etc etc. Mom says, "I did that. I served him coffee in the mornings, I supported his every career move, every plan, every dream, I ironed his shirts, waited dinner on him and raised our children to love, respect and admire him." Still didn't work, she'd say. Today, she tells me to be watchful, to put on makeup and take pride in my appearance, to love Hubby but not be sublimated by him, but most of all to pray, because you never know. That's her mantra: You never know.
Hubby threatens me with death by tickling if I "make kaliwa," kaliwa meaning left. Turning left signifies making a wrong turn, being unfaithful, in Philippine jargon. I just smile sweetly and say, "If you cheat, just remember, I get half of everything!" And we laugh. We have two little ones, who has energy for anything else?
But looking at Silda Spitzer's face on TV, thinking about their three girls, even imagining the anguish Spitzer himself must be going through ("How could I be so stupid!" Uh. Yeah!) it hits you that falling and failing is no laughing matter. We all make choices and we all have to respect each other's choices.
Just wish every choice led to a place where there's love and forgiveness and peace.
Hubby and I laugh when a cousin here, and an uncle there, sought to justify their infidelity by saying, "Well, my wife doesn't take care of me like she should. She doesn't make me coffee in the morning, she doesn't cook and cater to me." It's a running joke in our household since Hubby doesn't drink coffee and is very happy to get his own dinner (cooked by me or Panda Express or Sushiya). Sure, I try to make him his instant oatmeal in the mornings (the better to lower his cholesterol) but he also herds the two boys on Saturday mornings so Mama can sleep in, or make me my cup of hot cocoa before bed. Marriage is a tricky thing, difficult yes, but sublime and magnificent and fun, when you choose to love the person you married.
And in the face of those people who say, well, women should serve their husbands or they wouldn't look somewhere else for comfort, validation, etc etc. Mom says, "I did that. I served him coffee in the mornings, I supported his every career move, every plan, every dream, I ironed his shirts, waited dinner on him and raised our children to love, respect and admire him." Still didn't work, she'd say. Today, she tells me to be watchful, to put on makeup and take pride in my appearance, to love Hubby but not be sublimated by him, but most of all to pray, because you never know. That's her mantra: You never know.
Hubby threatens me with death by tickling if I "make kaliwa," kaliwa meaning left. Turning left signifies making a wrong turn, being unfaithful, in Philippine jargon. I just smile sweetly and say, "If you cheat, just remember, I get half of everything!" And we laugh. We have two little ones, who has energy for anything else?
But looking at Silda Spitzer's face on TV, thinking about their three girls, even imagining the anguish Spitzer himself must be going through ("How could I be so stupid!" Uh. Yeah!) it hits you that falling and failing is no laughing matter. We all make choices and we all have to respect each other's choices.
Just wish every choice led to a place where there's love and forgiveness and peace.
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