I always like to tell my male friends, when they're complaining about wives or girlfriends, a true story about a couple we'll call Bob and Carol (in homage to half of a movie that was considered very daring, and was very popular, in my youth). It exemplifies some of the differences between men and women. Differences that cause problems and misunderstanding in love thangs.
I was friends with B and C. They seemed happy about five years into their relationship, and so they were fun for my then-wife and me to double-date with, on our rare occasions out and away from the small but vociferous tribe of little Wilkens at home.
So I was more than a bit surprised when Carol called me to complain vehemently about some things Bob was doing. It's been 20 or so years ago, and I honestly don't remember what the issues were - just that they didn't involve another woman. In other words, to a man, they might not look like dealbreakers.
Anyway, Carol said, "He listens to you. Wise him up. I'm about six months from out of there."
I waited a decent interval, a day or two, and called Bob.
"How are things with Carol?" I asked.
"Great, man. We aren't fighting much, and the sex is good."
There you have it. The man thinks all is well; the woman is talking about packing up and heading for divorce court.
I don't remember exactly how long after Carol's phone plea that particular marriage ended, but it wasn't more than a year. Bob was stricken for a year or so after. Carol, to the outside eye, could have appeared quite callous, since she moved right on to another fella. But I knew better. She had been suffering and slowly but surely cutting Bob's ties to her heart for at least a year before the divorce.
I have another old friend who has (a rarity in my circles) remained married to the same woman for more than 30 years. He said once to me, explaining why men seemed in general more emotionally torched by divorces and breakups, unless they had initiated the split by seeing another, often younger woman: "It's simple, man. They are the ocean; we're the boats."
Fourteen years ago, very close to the end of a decent, albeit short, relationship with a beautiful grad student at U-Dub, she said to me during an argument: "You are the smartest man, about emotions, I've ever met - and those smarts just about make you the emotional equivalent of a dumb 12-year-old girl."
Once, 20 years ago, in a ghetto gym in Cincinnati, I found myself guarding Oscar Roberson, the Big O, an early star in the NBA who played throughout the '60s for the then-Cincinnati Royals. Roberson was pushing 50 the day I got him, and he was also pushing me, with his patented back-in to the basket move, all over the court.
I could hoop as a young guy; even black dudes said it all the time - "Denny, he can hoop." But I couldn't do anything with the Big O. I was totally overmatched.
And that's how I feel arguing with women about romantic relationships I'm in with them.
Politics, your gender don't matter, I can hold my own. Literature, bring on your best shot, ladies. But in love I almost always end up feeling the way I did on that court in Cincinnati 20 years ago. I keep getting pushed in a direction I don't want to go, and I can't do anything about it.
Last week my latest six-month attempt at union faltered and then failed. I'm not sure it was ALL my fault; after all, there wasn't another woman. But fault or not, I lost the last argument and then the girl. They are the ocean, and once again I fell out of the boat.
THE FIRST WOMAN who always outsmarted me, my mother, now 88, had a pacemaker installed last Wednesday after suffering her second "cardiac episode" in a month. Luckily, she is responding well to the technology. My siblings and I can't be happier. Men and women both.
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