CHOOSING LOVE

Had a preference for blue-eyed blondes most of my life. All 8-10s I guess you’d say. Divorced the last one after almost 25 years, just shy of it. Knew I could not stand up at the quarter century and say it had been great. In fact, though we had some fun times and raised a fine boy (we’re tight), it was often a nightmare. My fault as much as hers.

Maybe it had to do with the girl who lived behind us in Halifax. I remember reading how our first sexual experiences are lasting. I was about 5 when she invited me into the woods and found a sunny spot for just the two of us. I guess she had to be about 10, or maybe 12, but I’m not sure. There, she pulled her pants down and lay down in the daisies and had me sprinkle petals on her naked vagina. She was a blue-eyed blond. In my mind’s eye, I can still see her laying there touching herself.

After my last breakup, a gal chose me once more, because from what I can tell, that’s how it works. She is much younger. Soon she was highlighting her hair to look more blonde, and her eyes are green. I remember that saying as a kid, “never trust a woman with green eyes,” so.. yeah. Great ass, though. I became an ass man. Just happened. Motivation I guess.

After a few years, she stopped dyeing her hair. Then, she wanted my child. I told her I’d get her a dog. She looked a little hurt. I told her if she did well with the dog, I’d let her have my baby. Because, well, who wouldn’t want my kid, right?

So for her birthday, middle of buttfuck nowhere Alberta in a Febuary snowstorm, I get her this dog. The woman wants 1500 for this little black bitch, Bichon Frise. She’s the runt and goes straight for my gal. Apparently, it’s a Cuban subtype and I’d learned Cuban Salsa after my divorce. Even spent a few weeks in La Habana learning from a top teacher. I give her 750.

That dog, first time I threw a toy it brought it back to my feet. Missus had Ceasar Milan on all day and night. She became a dog-whisperer herself. We move to Toronto. She starts a dog walking and training business. She is really good at it. I know I’m fucked, but I’m amazed.

I take her to see Caesar Milan at the Molson Theater or some place like that downtown. There’s 3K women screaming and me checking my emails. Dog gets sick. Missus gets pregnant. Loses one in the middle of the night. I actually feel for her and I don’t fuck it up. I’m decent. She buries the miscarried fetus in a bean plant in my kitchen the next morning.

Before long, she’s pregnant again. She knew right away this one was good. How could I deny her? A few months after that, a perfect baby girl. Women have told me I needed a daughter to better understand them. I’d scoff. But, they were right. My little girl has taught me plenty about love.

Two years later, a boy arrives. He spends the first few months at Sick Kids. The dog, Maggie May (obviously, she let me name her) is really sick. These fucking vets are expensive and assholes about it when I ask them to put her down.

My gal asks me to take care of it while she’s at Ronald McDonald House, near the boy in Toronto, a hundred clicks from my place in Cobourg. So, I do it myself and bury her in the garden. It’s unpleasant.

My father had five sons. No one named a boy after him. I name the boy Howard, after my dad. He’s over the moon. Grandpa Howie and Baby Howie, now Little Howie.

It’s been 13 years I’m with this light brunette with the green eyes. My daughter is blue-eyed blond like I was as a kid. The boy is spitting image of his mom. He’s mama’s boy, in fact, but, he’s a boy.

I’m their hero. How often do we get to be someone’s hero? I’m her hero too, missus that is. She says, “you might be an old man, but you’re my old man.” I never heard sweeter words. Ever.

She won’t marry me. Maybe I needed that. Says, “if we never get married, we never get divorced.” I can’t argue with her. But she’s taught me a lot. I want to do well for her, for the kids. One thing I learned is a man can learn to love anyone. He’s adaptable.

So, it follows: If happiness is a decision, then so is love.

And, everyone wants to feel like someone’s chosen.

Stay Powerful, never give up.
cw

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