Ch. 7 When two are not one
My girl friends often wonder why they never see Joshua and I in huge fights. That's the special feature about marriage, or relationship between two people—what you present to others is only part of the truth. Of course we do fight over little things. We just don't go out and tell the whole world about it.
What is actually scary is when everything seems to be smooth and perfect, because you can't help but wonder when it'll go wrong. Take my parents. You may have realized by now that they're two similar yet different individuals. Yet, they hardly argued—at least that's what I saw as a child. No big fights, always calm and polite. In essence, they're too busy to fight because of their schedule and because of me. I knew they wanted to set a good example.
In many little ways, I knew Mommy and Daddy were very much in love. They told me separately. When Mommy took me to the kindergarten, her eyes always glowed when people asked about her husband. Daddy also loved calling her "my beautiful woman" in front of me. But even as a child, I thought something was wrong. We're too quiet. I was a self-conscious kid. I knew I was always the one who said a lot, just to fill the void. Silence was an enemy to many kids.
Then came the winter when I was turning 4, after my grandparents showed up during Thanksgiving. Things got slightly better for a while. I knew my parents were trying.
But once my grandparents left, things were strangely quiet again. My parents had a happy ending eventually, but during those few weeks, nobody thought anything would work out. Mom blamed it on Dr. Webber, but I think the idea had been deeply rooted in Dad's head for a long time. Africa, I mean.