Sleeping With the Enemy

When my son was younger, we’d often talk about the kind of girl he’d like to marry. Keep in mind, here, that he was not quite sixteen years old, but he had his dream girl.

She’d have to have long dark brown or black hair.

Her hair should not be stick straight.

He wanted it a bit on the wavy side.

She shouldn't be too tall, but he didn’t want her to be too tiny and petite, but he also didn’t want her fat.

Her eyes had to be brown.

She had to know how cook Italian food, which was his choice of food.

In other words, his dream girl had to be Italian.

In his teens, he would picture meeting and eventually marrying Alyssa Milano.

He reminded me of my brother. In 1957, when my brother was twelve years old, he and his best friend, Joey, made a bet. They’d run away together and head for California. They’d find and befriend their love, Annette Funicello. Whoever won her heart, also won the bet. Naïve? Probably, but they had their dreams.

My son was no different, with the exception that he didn’t plan on running away. He just wanted a girl with those physical attributes.

In a way, when we’re young and silly, don’t we all have our dreams of the ultra-handsome men or pretty young women who’d make our lives complete and the envy of our friends?

My son dated but none of the girls quite fit his image of the perfect girl – or would-be-wife. He’d gotten used to the idea that maybe, just maybe, she only existed in movies or on TV. Yet, he still went out and enjoyed each date. He never took the dates or himself seriously.

My son, now in his mid-twenties, still dated and I secretly began worrying. He rarely dated the same girl more than two or three months. Then the relationship was over. He was already bored.

However, things were about to change. Or, at least, I hoped they would.

One week, in particular, his friend called and told him about an upcoming party.

“But Matt. I don’t know the guy who’s hosting the party.”

“Don’t worry about it. He said I could bring a few friends. And, tag, you’re it! I want you to come.”

I heard my son reply, “Ok, I’ll think about it.”

Two days later, my son called his friend. “Okay, I’ll probably go but you said it was a Halloween party and if I go to this party, and hear me loud and clear, I AM NOT WEARING A COSTUME!”

Matt must have said something like, “don’t worry, neither am I” because the next thing I heard my son say was, “Ok, good. Then I’ll go but one more condition. I drive myself. This way if I want to leave, I leave!”

Matt gave him the address and the wait was on. Three days later, I saw my heading for the front door.

“Uh, Ken, before you leave, aren’t you going to change into clean clothes?”

He replied, “Mom this is a Halloween party. I’m going as a worthless bum who hasn’t bathed in about a year.”

I must have looked horrified because then my son said, as he laughed, “Don’t worry mom, I took a shower. I just took some old clothes out in the backyard and stomped on them in the grass and dirt. I’m fine.”

With relief, I smiled and said, “Yep, you do look the part and I’m doubly glad you don't smell the part.”

With that, Ken grabbed his keys and walked out to his car. As I waved goodbye with my right hand, I held my left hand behind my back with my fingers crossed.

My son arrived home around eleven o’clock at night and seemed extremely tired. All I asked was if he had a good time. He said, “Ironically, yeah, but I’m beat. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

He walked in his room, closed the door, and went to bed.

The next morning, over breakfast, I sat drinking my coffee waiting for him to come out of the shower and “spill the beans”, as the saying goes.

Finally sitting at the table, as he smothered his pancakes with syrup, he said, “So, Mom, I met a girl last night.”

My brain was now on full alert and my eyes opened wider. “I’m all ears,” I said.

He told me what he knew. “Her name is Joanne – with an “e” at the end. She has very dark brown hair. It’s a bit shorter than I’d like it to be, but it’s ok. She’s not fat but not what you’d think of as thin. She’s good. Her eyes are brown, she’s shorter than I am but not tiny. And, Mom, get this. She LOVES sports!! We sat and talked for close to two hours.”

“That’s great!! I’m so glad you had a good time. Do you think you might want to see her again?”

“Mom, as a matter of fact, I took her phone number and address. We’re going out to dinner next Saturday.”

I was stunned. My son made a date with a girl he just met. Wow! She must have really impressed him.

They dated steadily after that. Not one weekend went by where they didn’t see each other. Inwardly, I smiled hoping my son finally found his dream girl. Apart from the fact that she didn’t know how to cook, she was exactly what he was looking for in a wife.

I’ll fast forward now. Two years later, they planned their wedding. One year later, they planned their nursery. Joanne was pregnant.

Everything seemed to be moving so quickly. I was thrilled with my new extended family.

One Sunday afternoon, Ken, his wife, and little baby girl, came to visit.

“So, Ken,” I asked like most mothers of recently married kids ask, “how’s married life treating you?”

Ken answered, “Well, remember when I first met Joanne and I told you she’s as nutty for sports as I am?”

“Yeah, I remember. Why, isn’t she?” Suddenly, I began to worry. However, there was no need. Ken’s reply eased that worry.

“Oh yeah, she’s a definite sports fanatic. I like the Yankees (baseball). She likes the Mets (baseball). I like the Islanders (hockey team). She likes the Rangers (hockey team). I like the Steelers (football). She likes the Giants (football). When it comes to sports, we’re completely opposite. I feel like I’m sleeping with the enemy!”

Joanne heard what he said, picked up and tossed a throw pillow at his head, then, walked over to him, kissed him where the pillow connected and said, “Hey, hon, want a beer?”

Fast forward again, to the now. Ken and Joanne have two children (both in their twenties). Ken remains a Yankee fan – as is their daughter. Joanne is still a Mets fan – and so is their son.

One thing for sure is that anytime there is a televised baseball, hockey, or football game on TV, their house is far from quiet.

Yes, as Ken once said, it’s like sleeping with the enemy.