Rockin' the Periwinkle

My wife, despite all evidence to the contrary, thinks we live in a Norman Rockwell painting. I guess this is why, for her, Easter is a time for new outfits and big ham dinners after church, whereas I "look forward" to weeding the garden or cleaning the garage. I swear, sometimes I am surprised she isn't walking around in an Easter bonnet and twirling a parasol while suspenders-wearing street urchins race by whilst pushing a hoop with a stick.

But let's talk about ham.

Ham has never been delicious or undelicious to me. If offered some, I would say "no". If it was already on my plate or in my sandwich I would eat it, but I would never ask for seconds. I don't know who ham's publicist is but it definitely gets my vote as The Other Overrated Meat. I just don't get the draw.

"Ham... Meh." is the point I am belaboring here.

Now let's talk about Easter outfits. (We'll come back to the ham - I promise.)

"I want to buy you a new shirt for Easter," the wife says as we are folding clothes on the floor of my son's room. "Um, why?" was my response. "Everyone needs new clothes for Easter, and I think a pastel would look good on you." she replied. "Whoa, whoa, whoa... Where did 'pastel' come into play, here?"

Fast-forwarding a bit. The hugely one-sided conversation that I lost contained phrases like "It's traditional" and "I think you'd look nice" and "C'mon... Please?"

"Fine. But the boy gets to pick the color. Let's ask him. " This was a stroke of genius on my part for two reasons. First, I just knew his 20-month-old experience with naming colors was limited to whatever was in the Crayola box, so he wasn't gonna come up with peach or lavender or aqua. Second, there was no way that my wife was going to buy me a bright orange dress shirt even if the kid chose orange (his favorite color). I couldn't lose.

The wife agrees, so we ask "What color should daddy's new shirt be?"  He looks up from his toys and says "Ummmmmm... PINK!"

Oh, come on! You have got to be kidding me! Curse you, River Dolphin episode of Go, Diego, Go! Curse you! At that point I picture myself either twice my current age and calling out bingo numbers at the Moose Lodge or strutting around in a matching fedora with a huge peacock feather sticking out of the top.

Ok... A deal's a deal. But maybe the situation can be salvaged: "Ok, buddy, a pink shirt it is. What color should daddy's tie be?" I ask. "Ummm... green polka-dots", came the reply.

My wife giggled and I glared at her with the firm belief that she had been taking ventriloquism lessons on the side. Well, that's just great. I get to spend Sunday morning preemptively explaining to people that nothing the hell, in fact, is the matter with my eyes and occasionally saying "Hey, pal, that's MISTER Watermelon to you!" as I storm off in my big floppy shoes.

As it turns out that they don't sell green polka dot ties at the store where my wife bought my salmon dress shirt, probably because we don't live in a cartoon. She just bought the tie they had on display with the shirt instead - it was also salmon-colored but had small blue diamonds on it. No polka dots.

I had to admit the ensemble wasn't half bad and it even went with my sportsjacket (you know... the grey one with the thin blue checks...). Not bad at all...

Yeah, but what about the ham?

After I came in from mowing and trimming the lawn and leveling and filling the sandbox I discovered that my wife was in the process of making a huge dinner of mashed potatoes, collard greens, macaroni and cheese (with 3 kinds of cheese!) and, yes, ham. There was even apple pie.

Everything was good but the ham was awesome. There really is no other word for it. I don't know if it was because I was happily tired from my labors in the yard or because we were all enjoying a meal as a family or simply because my wife makes a damn good ham, but it was a terrific experience.

So what has changed? "What, all of a sudden I am some sort of ham-enjoying, pastel-wearing freak?!" I can hear my 17-year-old self bellowing across the decades. "Shut up, you little punk, you don't know jack." is my reply.

I think what has changed is that I have reached an age where I am old enough to admit I don't know everything but young enough to not be firmly entrenched in my ways. I can look forward to new experiences and while reassessing the worthiness of old beliefs. I am eternally thankful for my wife to help me question my various long held (and occasionally idiotic) "wisdoms". My world would probably be a far darker and definitely a more boring place without her "Norman Rockwell" point of view.

So bring on the green eggs, Sam I Am. I'll give 'em a shot after all.

P.S. I love you, baby! Thanks for a wonderful Easter.