The Joke Was On Me (Part Six)

Upon boarding the ship, and before parting ways toward our cabins, the patriarse informed me and the Bandaid the he'd like to talk to us for a moment, and "requested" that we meet him up on deck in 20 minutes. The Bandaid seemed confused, but ok with it, and all I could think was, "Oh great - What now?"




[The moniker "the Bandaid" isn't meant to be in any way derogatory toward the guy I've applied it to. Rather, anything derogatory about it would be aimed at the parents who used him, unwittingly, as an emotional bandaid to manipulate their daughter.]


The three of us got together up on the deck and found a side table. Then...all weirdness. The patriarse went into a spiel about appearances, about how we need to be aware that we represent Christ, about what people might think if they see certain things (as if I've ever cared what people think), and about how the bible says we're to treat women "as sisters". Oh dear Lord. I wanted to raise my hand and say "What if I want to marry my sister? One of my sisters is awfully pretty. I came on this very cruise just to spend time with this sister. What's the bible say about that?" I didn't say anything. I just kinda chuckled wondering what the Bandaid might be thinking of all of this. I mean, the guy was taking a verse that was speaking to how we treat one another in a fellowship or assembly/as part of the church body - not at all about how men are to act toward women in every situation, particularly a romantic situation - and using it to try to control me? Using it to try to guilt me? No thanks. Not interested. She and I had already determined that WE would set our own boundaries concerning our physical interaction. Of course, not being the daughter of a patriarse, my half of "WE" had significantly more teeth than hers, but she'd told me that she didn't need to be sheltered concerning us, we were both adults, and she was comfortable setting her own boundaries.


The patriarse then informed us that he had set a 12:00AM curfew on the girls (who, btw, were all adults) and that he expected us to "honor" it and to help the girls "honor" it. {Church Lady alert} Controlling jackhole. I was prepared for some of this kind of crap, so it wasn't exactly coming out of left field. I knew he had ample amounts of religious weirdness and strange/aberrant ideas about his role as a father. I expected to see it, whether in bits and pieces or full speed ahead, on this trip. The Bandaid, though...poor guy. He didn't say a word as we headed back to the cabin.


The whole idea of patriarchals and emotion makes me think of cavemen discovering fire for the first time. "Fire bad!" The difference is...at least neanderthals wouldn't have to burn everybody to prove "Fire bad!" and make fire a means of control. But, the confusion levels are nearly identical. I've come to see that perhaps the only part of a women's being, prior to marriage, that has any real value or merit in this paradigm is her hymen. Her mind is irrelevant, and her heart is most certainly irrelevant - despite empty patriarchal lip service about "guarding it" (usually just prior to beating the hell out of it). What's really being guarded is her hymen. I'm convinced of this. Then, after matrimony, the only meaningful parts of her being are her uterus and ovaries. Of this I'm also equally convinced.


Once we got back to the cabin, the Bandaid was still quiet for a few minutes, and then, he just blurted out, "What do you think of all of that? I mean, isn't that, like, overkill?" I could tell this had caused him some consternation. Again, I pitied him. He was/is a good guy. Nice guy (early 20s), Christian guy, from a good, healthy family. All I said in response was "He's her dad. I only listen for that reason for her sake, whether I agree with him or not. I'm just trying to make it through the week." That was the truth. I was just trying to avoid making waves until I could get a better handle on a few things. To take his mind off of it, I showed him the ring I had bought. He wanted to know if I was definitely proposing that week. At that point in time, I could only answer in maybes. I was hoping to propose to her on Valentine's Day (which was Thursday...we boarded on Monday - and, I'm well aware that Valentine's proposals are corny to a lot of people - so be it), but, there were a couple of things that would have to happen for the proposal to happen. The first was already being realized - I had needed to see her bonding to me more than to her family/father, i.e., turning to me first in a given situation, particularly problem (even if small problem) situations. I was seeing that in her over the previous week in spades. Then, I had to hear her tell me she loved me. Not just infer it. Not just imply or insinuate it. I wanted to hear it. Unprovoked. From her own lips.


The next several days were beautiful. Gorgeous weather, smooth seas, and the two of us spending as much time as possible together. I was falling more deeply in love with her by the second. There was so much women there, so much heart there, that had never been tapped into. She had no idea the woman she was capable of being - thanks to the patriarchal jar she'd been planted in. And, frankly, if you could separate her from her "religion" she was just an amazing, soft-hearted person. So beautiful, inside and out. Truth be told, apart from her father, who just has "ass" in his DNA, her entire family is beautiful - but only when you can separate them from their "religion". Add their beliefs into the mix and they were and are a human tragedy.


We would meet every morning at about 8:00, and go up on deck and enjoy breakfast together. If we were in port, we'd actually go out on the outside deck and enjoy our breakfast in Bahamian breezes and overlooking beautiful turquoise waters. Then, her family devotionals/indoctrination sessions in her parent's cabin at 10:00, which, surprisingly, by Tuesday, they were asking me to lead. I'd try to incite discussion on the passages I'd read from the bible, or on certain topics - to no avail. I came to see that the girls were all afraid to discuss these things, in the presence of an "outsider", in front of their father. No one actually admitted to this. It was quite obvious anyway. By Tuesday, as we began to stop in various ports, we'd exit the ship and explore a bit, finding a nice little spot to purchase a smoothie or something else to satisfy the sweet tooth, then we'd walk around through the various shops and look at all the tourist-driven overpriced merchandise. Then, in early afternoon, upon re-embarking, we'd spend some time alone together somewhere before meeting up with her family for dinner seating at 5:30. After this, usually sometime around 8-9:00, her family would have to do a half-hour set, and afterward, she and I would retreat to the outer deck at the back of the ship to a little private nook we'd found. We'd talk about all manner of things there, all while watching the moonlight dancing across the waves in the ship's wake. Beautiful...oh, and the waves and moon and stuff weren't bad either. We began to refer to this little nook as "our spot". On Wednesday afternoon, I booked her into the spa to get pampered a bit, which, needless to say, she enjoyed, and it gave me the opportunity to take care of some business.


I was aiming at Valentine's day to propose for several reasons. One primary reason was - Valentine's Day was her family's "Christmas". They believed the celebration of Christmas was too pagan and too "commercial", so they gave "the man" the Bronx Cheer by exchanging gifts on Valentine's Day (Yes, it's STOOPID, and a completely superficial and meaningless reaction and protest - but it was pointless to argue it). I was confident that I was going to hear "I love you" prior to Valentine's Day...even though things were cutting it close. Confident enough that on Wednesday I called her parent's cabin and asked if I could come speak with them for a moment. Now, please keep in mind, I don't believe that ANYTHING mandated a need for me to speak with her parents about proposing, and I had made it absolutely clear to her that, when and if the time came, I'd only be going to them to seek a ceremonial/tradition-based blessing, and I wouldn't be seeking permission under ANY circumstances. I needed her to be clear on that in case someone (the patriarse) tried to flip things around on me/us at some point. There was no gray area between the two of us on that issue.


She and I had planned to get up extra early on Valentine's to go up on deck and watch the sunrise. If all fell into place, I figured THAT would be a special way and place to propose. I was entirely uncertain of how receptive her parents would be to any of this. Her mom, to my surprise, seemed genuinely excited for her daughter when I sat them down and told them, "I love your daughter very much, I'd like to marry her, and I'd like to ask for your blessing on my proposal." Totally ceremonial from my perspective, as I've said. They had been expecting this. Her dad was overwhelmingly cooperative - at least superficially. He asked me when I planned to propose, and I told him about the sunrise plans the next morning (hopefully). He asked me if I'd be willing to wait until that night, after her family had exchanged their gifts. I didn't really understand the significance of waiting, so he explained, "She has something special planned for tomorrow morning...I'd like for you to let her go through with it." Looking back on all of this, this is the ONE time he actually acted like a loving, caring father, looking out for her best interests and not his own. I agreed to wait until the next night to propose - or longer if necessary to hear "I love you".


The "something special" she'd planned for the next morning was telling me she loved me. This was a HUGE deal for her, considering the screwed up concepts of emotion she'd been taught, and the "you love the man you marry...you don't marry the man you love" bassackward mindset of most fundamentalists/patriocentrics, which, btw, was also largely what she was taught. The women in her life were more "dutiful" toward their husbands than affectionate. It was their "duty" and "service" to love their husbands. In fact, the marriage relationship that she had valued the MOST as a benchmark was that of her paternal grandpa/grandma, and she'd described it as completely inaffectionate. The way she'd always viewed love and emotion wasn't something that inspired the warm fuzzies in me, so her being so open about being in love with me was an enormous hurdle that had been cleared.


The night before, we had discussed Valentine's Day gifts for each other. We'd agreed weeks prior to not do anything outrageous or costly, but something simple. Now knowing that I had to come at a proposal from a different direction, and still wanting it to be special, I suggested that we write letters to each other. Very open and intimate letters, describing our thoughts and feelings about the other. I'd somehow incorporate my proposal into what I would write.


Anticipation chewed me up that day, particularly after the "I love you" early that morning. We went through the somewhat regular routine for most of the morning, although my mind was entirely on that night. On that day, the ship was anchored at Half Moon Cay, a mile or so long, couple hundred yards wide, strip of white sand wrapped in the most beautiful tropical blue waters I've seen anywhere. The ship has to anchor about a 1/2 mile offshore, and to go to the island, you have to board a shuttle and boat over. There are things there like para-sailing, horseback riding, a big BBQ on the beach, and several little touristy shops. I suggested that she go over to the island with her family while I stayed on the ship to tend to a few things. While I did need to do some laundry and such, my suggestion was self-serving - it would give me some time to write what I needed to write. I'd go and start a load of laundry, then run back to my cabin and write, then run back and put them in the dryer while starting a new load, then run back and write. After about 90 minutes of this routine, and as I was nearly finished with the laundry (still had a little more to write), the phone in my cabin rang. She was on the other end. I asked, "You're already back?" (normally, you're over on the island for at least 3-4 hours) She said, "I didn't go." I asked why, and she told me, "I didn't want to be away from you for that long. Where are you now? Are you finished with your laundry? Can you come up and see me?" Oh man, I may be a grizzled and weathered dude, but that just tore me up. I went up on the deck to meet her, and she was sooo pretty, just sitting there in a deck chair. I sat with her for a few minutes, and we didn't really say much - not with our mouths, anyway. Then, I had to break away to finish my writing before hooking back up for an hour or so prior to dinner.


A week or so before meeting up with her family, knowing that she, as with most homeschoolers, had been an avid journaler, I had bought a nice little suede-backed journal to give to her at some point. It came in handy in this instance. I wrote an entry for each day of the cruise, telling her how deeply I was falling in love with her, how amazing I found her heart, and so forth. The last entry, the one for this particularly day, had a special ending. Before entering the dining room, I gave the journal to a gentleman who sat at our table all week and dined with us and said, "When I ask for this, will you pass it over?" He looked befuddled for a moment, then said, "Sure!" with a bit of a wry grin on his face (I mean, people had noticed the way the two of us looked at each other). Her family immediately commenced in exchanging their gifts upon being seated, primarily little knick-knacks and sentimental items. The whole time I'm thinking, "Would you guys do me a solid and put the pedal to the metal?! I've got business to attend to here, people!" And then, finally...


When "our" turn came, I asked her if she'd like to go first, and she said "I'd like for you to." She was apprehensive, mistakenly thinking I may not like what she'd written to me. With that, I nodded to the man holding the journal for me and asked, "Would you please pass it over to her?" When it reached her, I asked, "Please read what I've written." She asked, "Now?" I said, "Please do." So, she began to silently read, as all at the table sat in silent and bemused curiosity. I took her a couple of minutes (I can be long-winded, you know - and I remember details). I was just anxious for her to reach the last entry, which ended with...


"I had a very interesting conversation with your parents yesterday. Please say yes... "


Her mouth fell open, and all she could do was stare at me in total wonder, mouth agape, as I rose from the table, then dropped to a knee, presented the ring, and asked her to marry me. Her hand went over her mouth, she dropped the journal, and then embraced me in a deathgrip that would do a Greco-Roman wrestler proud, and exclaimed "Yes!" in my ear. She wouldn't let go - which was fine with me - squeezing me continually tighter for what seemed like ages, before finally allowing me to place the ring on her finger. She, her sisters, and her mother were in tears, the entire dining room had noticed what was going on by this time, and for the moment, we were the toast of the ship. It was, to that point, the most beautiful moment of my life.


Fortunately, the Bandaid captured it all on video for us, beginning with her jaw dropping. It was a genuinely priceless moment. A moment everyone deserves to experience at least once in their lives. Even though everything eventually went to hell in a handbasket, I was, and still am, thankful to God for allowing that moment to be special, and especially so for her. I wanted, so much, for my proposal to be special for her.


A couple of hours later, after her family had finished their performance, she and I retreated to "our spot", and she asked if we could pray together. I prayed, making a promise to both her and God that "from this day forward, I would and will give up everything in my life, short of my faith in You, for her." She repeated the same type of prayer, with the exact same promise. As far as we were concerned, we were married. Everything that followed would just be ceremony. I then just held her in my arms for a while. No one needed to say a word.