An Interview With My Husband

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By Elizabeth Speth

It was a risky proposition, corralling Neil with a series of probing and provocative questions.  I knew it could skid sideways at any point.  There was the possibility of profanity, of inappropriate and suggestive responses.  Political rants were likely.  If his critics are to be believed, Neil can be counted upon to gauge what is expected of him, only to execute an immediate and opposing course of action.  He might have clammed up completely.

We have all heard the stories — the mismatched shoes at work, the crumpled hat, the sleeping at the desk.  The inappropriate texts accidentally sent to his children.  Who is the man behind the mess?  Was finding out worth the almost inevitable fiasco?

After a long negotiation process, several cancellations and no-shows, he arrived late on a cloudy morning for our interview at the dining room table.  He declined to remove his sunglasses.  He was restless, edgy.  Periodically, he stared into space, and several times he rested his forehead in his hands, closed his eyes, and appeared to sleep briefly.  I had hoped a glass of wine would help.  Or whiskey.  Neil is famously fond of a good bourbon.  He declined those offers, and requested espresso.  I knew we were in for a challenging discourse.

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Elizabeth:  Thanks for sitting down with me, Neil.  First let me just say that there are no right or wrong answers.  However, I do expect  you to give me the answer I want.  If you don’t get the answer on the first try, I’ll ask you again, and eventually I’ll just change the answer to my preferred response.  So there’s no pressure on you.  My first questions is:  Can you give me a three-sentence biography? Only the high points, please.

Neil:  Born in New York.  Happy Childhood.  Married well.

Elizabeth:  Describe your life in one sentence?

Neil:  All itches scratched — no holes.

Elizabeth:  Uh.  Ok.  What is your philosophy as a father?

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Neil:  As a father?  Lead by example.  Of course I’ve fallen woefully short.  My intent is to provide a secure foundation, support their decisions.  I’m a kind of loosely authoritative figure.  Just this side of arbitrary.  Maybe the other side of completely arbitrary.  It doesn’t matter, because they never pay attention to my parenting.  So don’t expect me to tell you if it works.  I guess my parenting style is ‘be ignored’.  

Elizabeth:  Perhaps it’s still being formulated….

Neil:  The truth is, I spent too much of my parenting time thinking about the wrong things.  Stressing about work.  I should have spent more time developing my parenting style. Don’t write that down — that’s off the record.

Elizabeth:  Of course. Next questionYou are not a vain man, not overly-encumbered by ego.  Yet you do allow yourself a couple of small vanities.  You are meticulous about your weight,  and you never leave the house without cologne. Discuss.

Neil:  I don’t think I take myself too seriously.  We all have ego.  Mine was spent in achieving my professional goals.  That was enough impetus to get me where I needed to go.  Ego should be used to motivate you to achieve goals.  It should be harnessed, like a work horse, but then you should be done with it.

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Elizabeth:  What defines ‘manhood’ for you?  You have sons.  What would you like them to know about being men?

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Neil:  I don’t put much stock in manhood.  I believe in being a good person.  Politically, I’m a conservative, and sometimes people like me are accused of waging war on women.  But I don’t think in those terms.  I believe in good human values, man or woman.

Elizabeth:  Name a time you were horribly, woefully wrong about something, and I was right, but you never admitted it.

Neil:  Can’t think of anything.

Elizabeth:  Take as much time as you need.

Neil: Well, I can tell you one time you were very, very right.  You signed me up to coach youth basketball without asking me first.  If you’d asked, I’d have said no.  It was one of the best things I’ve ever done.  A great experience.

Elizabeth:  I feel that you dodged the question, but we can come back to it.  What is your favorite thing?

Neil:  Weekend horseback rides.  The American River Canyon.  My childhood.  Good health.

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Elizabeth:  What is your least favorite thing?  

Neil:  Waking up at five a.m. to go to work.  Feeling rushed.  Feeling hustled.  Feeling rushed and hustled by my wife.

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Elizabeth:  What is a thing it has taken you a long time to learn?

Neil:  Two things.  One, how to get rid of the slice in my golf swing.  That took thirty years.  The other thing you taught me.  You told me that we are never, ever going to change anyone’s mind about religion or politics when we argue with them.  Can I apply that to the horribly, woefully wrong question?

Elizabeth:  I guess.  What is the one, only, teeny-tiny only complaint you have about me?  

Neil:  You are headstrong.  You also —

Elizabeth:  That’s one.  Next question:  Do you have a system in place so you will not go to work anymore with mis-matched shoes?  

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Neil: As long as they match closely enough, does it really matter?  I have eight pairs of shoes I wear to work.  It’s really hard to get that many shoes matched up.  I look at my shoes like my children.  As long as they are being cared for and given equal amounts of attention, it doesn’t matter if they are mismatched.

Elizabeth:  Your shoes are like your children.  Got it. Goals?  Other than to raise good shoes?

Neil:  I‘d like to sleep more.  I’m looking forward to growing a garden this year.  I want to retire so life can really begin.

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Elizabeth:  Speaking of retirement, what age do you feel you are?

Neil:  Depends on the time of day.  I used to feel perpetually 35.  How old are you?  You are old.  You’ve got a birthday coming up, haven’t you?

Elizabeth:  I’ll ask the questions, Neil.  What do you feel was the greatest accomplishment of your parents’ generation, and your generation, and what would you like to see your children’s generation accomplish?  .

Neil:  My parents’ generation…  Putting a man on the moon.  It was a feat of discovery beyond all knowable borders.   A dream fulfilled.  My generation?  The internet.  That changed everything.  Suddenly all knowledge is possible.  

Elizabeth:  And your children’s generation?  What would you like to see them do?

Neil:  I’d like to see them focus more on self-reliance, on family and community.  (Note:  Neil said some things here that were very politically oriented, which I have edited out.  I will save those for when I start a blog titled:  Mostly Strident and Argumentative Things.)

Elizabeth:  What is your favorite one-liner?  

Neil:  That’s easy.  It’s:  ‘Orally.  How do you take yours?’

Elizabeth:  (…is speechless…)

Neil:  That’s in response to the question:  ‘How do you take your coffee?’  I have another one.  ‘Lying down.’  Which is what you say when someone asks you how you slept.  

Elizabeth:  That’s really all the time we have now, Neil.  Thank you very much.  

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Neil:  I have a lot of jokes like that.

Elizabeth:  We’re good.  Thank you.

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Neil posing with the author, post-interview, to show there are no hard feelings.

Is Texting and Aging the New Texting and Driving?

By Elizabeth Speth

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This is an intervention.

It’s going to be awkward and painful, especially for the interventionee, my husband Neil, who has become a danger to himself and others.  Who has wrought destruction and acute embarrassment and also occasional nausea upon his loved ones.  Who needs to put down his cell phone.  And walk away.  No last-minute pictures.  No farewell texts.  It’s time to go cold turkey.

Some numbers to consider as I build my case:  According to the Pew Research Center,  83% of American adults own cell phones and three-quarters of them (73%) send and receive text messages. The average 18-24 year-old sends or receives more than a hundred text messages daily.  In the 55-64 age bracket, the number is a much lower ten or so.

In the Neil Bracket, the goal here is to get the number down to a nice, round zero.  My children will back me up here.

Our beef with Neil is based on other hard, cold statistics, like the following:

One or more times a week, Neil forgets he is on a group message chain, and sends shall we say inappropriate messages to our perpetually traumatized, gagging, horrified, eye-soap scrubbing offspring.  So far only our family has been targeted, but it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the world is at risk.

It’s been going on for a while.  Neil has been chastised, he’s been warned, he’s been threatened.  There have been apologies, confrontations, ultimatums, tears, vows to go forth and sin no more.  But Neil is a recidivist.  He’s recalcitrant.  He’ll be fine for a few days, what we now know to call the Honeymoon Period, but then I get the textual equivalent of a mumble, something to the effect that he may have sent a text without his glasses again, not sure, and BOOM!  There is this, which cannot be un-seen:

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You will notice he tried to bluff his way out of this, which is typical behavior for an intervention candidate.

I actually retrieved this photo off my son’s Twitter feed.  It’s in the #Neilstrikesagain series.

More damning evidence:

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I have not included the texts that refer to specific body parts.  I have spared you that, but you can see them on our children’s Twitter and Instagram feeds.

I don’t mean to pick on just Neil here.  Well, that’s a lie.  I do.  This is an intervention.  But I’m probably guilty of being too old to text too.  I still try get the spelling and punctuation right, and I write in complete paragraphs with strong topic sentences and metaphors, as I was taught.  This kind of effort on my part, with the help of the auto-correct feature and my own lack of appropriate magnifying eyewear,  just results in a sort of word salad, especially after cocktail hour.

Perhaps you are feeling badly for Neil now.  You would like to suggest, in his defense, that he could dictate his texts, rather than typing them.  That doesn’t work in Neil’s case, because he does not proofread.  He can’t.  He doesn’t have his reading glasses.

Take a recent evening when he texted me while enjoying a seafood dinner, and presumably libations, with friends.  The mussels were apparently particularly tender that night, prompting the following dictated message of affection:

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In the wrong hands, this could have sparked an International Incident.  This man is clearly dangerous.  Note also the fact that this was, again, a group message.

It is time to face the fact that we are the Jitterbug generation.  The demographic for whom the straightforward flip phones with large, lighted keys were invented.  They can only be used to call 911 and Reverse Mortgage companies.  We can stay out of trouble this way.

Because it’s not just the texts.  It’s the photos.  Neil has discovered the selfie, and he’s obsessed.  I know for a fact, because I have photographic proof, that he goes into his office during the work day, closes and locks the door, takes inappropriate photos of himself and SENDS THEM TO PEOPLE  (more irrefutable numbers here) at the rate of approximately too many times per week.

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See what I mean?

Like a teenager, he sends pictures of what he is wearing:

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Yes, those are mis-matched shoes.  Neil wears them exactly twice yearly.  Neil doesn’t wear his glasses when he dresses either.  But that’s a different intervention.

Neil, you know we love you.  We think you are great dad (other than the inappropriate messages to your children), a great husband, and a good, hard-working provider.

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But author Sara Gruen summed it up best when she said:  “Keeping up the appearance of having all your marbles is hard work, but important.”   

So, yeah.  We just want you to put down the phone. Maybe take up the saxophone?

Or just get some sleep.