Never say never
He dangled the toy, then shook it. Sunlight streamed in through the window of the waiting room, highlighting his black curls and brown eyes. Faint cries from adjoining rooms echoed off the industrial cement block walls. He looked up, shyly, pleadingly. So many had offered hope before, only to shake their heads and leave him to wonder what was wrong with him, that no one would take him into their care. He licked his lips nervously, then ventured a happy little chuckle, barely audible.
"What do you think?" The kids looked at me. Of course they wanted him in our family; my youngest especially had always wanted to be a big sister. "Maybe we should text a picture to Mom first," said my son. We did. She agreed. Thirty minutes later, as we drove home, Mel christened my car with pee.
We had become dog owners, insane pet owners, emailing pictures of kids and pup to everyone we knew, shocking friends and family alike. "But you were NEVER going to get a dog," we invariably heard.
Never say never, friends.
Sure, I'd been a little ... um... resistant to owning a dog. I like dogs, always have liked dogs, loved our family pet growing up. Dog-sitting for the in-laws, standing in robe and boots in a cold slushy January street, though, makes it easy to question the wisdom of pet ownership. Throw in being pinned down for travel, and nights out, and carpet cleaning, and on and on, and you think, "Why bother?" Maybe someday we can genetically engineer a companion animal that combines cat maintenance with dog personality.Whattaya say, Science?
Still, our daughter pined so desperately for a dog that she had started to become one herself. The girl can stay in character, you have to give her that; for ten, twenty minutes at a stretch, she'll scrabble about on all fours, panting, waggling her puppy rump convincingly. It became pretty inevitable once my sweet wife climbed on the bandwagon; not (only) because what she wants, she gets, but because what she wants is the right thing.
So we heaved ourselves over the cliff of Never into owning a dog, and it's made me think a lot about things I'd "never" do. "Never say never," can be learned over and over in life, and not just in actions, but in defining your character and relationships.
As a teen, you think you know how your future self will handle the big stuff. So naive! Years ago, working as a busboy, clearing a yuppie couple's table, I found a paper place mat heavily scrawled with a chart, a SWOT (Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, Threats) analysis of whether or not they should get married. "Financial stability... access to capital for home and business... desire for children...access to romance..." Wha? As Sky Masterson said in Guys & Dolls, "What are you trying to pick, a girl or a horse? You can't dope it like that!" The idea of being analytical in love made my young romantic heart shudder with disgust. "I'll NEVER measure love like that!"
It took years and a few near-Mrs. to learn that love alone doesn't sustain relationships; that all those other factors really do limit or extend the survival of a marriage. Never treat love rationally? Of course you should! Like a business! Provide quality of service guarantees, a just-in-time supply chain, and 24-hour free tech support. Think of how exemplary products are positioned in the marketplace: "Oh! You get to fly on Midwest Express? Lucky. Ooh! Is that an iPhone?" Emulate these successes. I want my sweet wife to be the envy of all other customer-wives. They should be lining up outside The Hubby Store the night before Brian 3.0 is released. Not that my brand imaging is perfect. I left the house one day wearingCrocs with socks. "You are totally mine," my wife said. "And with that look, you're likely to stay that way."
"Never" is such a dangerous word in marriages. Sentences opening with "You never ___" suggest that issues deeper than emptying the dishwasher bubble beneath the surface conversation. Strike any sentence construction that includes "never" and you'll begin to communicate better immediately.
About the only acceptable uses of "never" are in the "never give up" sense: never stop growing and stretching. My latest Facebook friend is 85 years old, proof enough that Facebook has fully mainstreamed. Walter Latzko crafted vocal arrangements for the Buffalo Bills of "Music Man" fame, and arranged for and married the tenor singer of The Chordettes of "Mr. Sandman" fame. About ten years ago, he started composing his arrangements on computer, and today thrives selling charts electronically to thousands of fans around the world. He's 85. He has more Facebook friends than I do. Walter never says never.
And now, the conclusion I thought I'd never get to use. "I'd tell you more about this topic, but my dog ate the last paragraph." Wow – this makes cleaning up the messes all worthwhile. We should have gotten a dog years ago.