Fourteen years ago, I married a man whom I can only describe as "butch." I suspect the following are some of the contributing factors for this condition: At the tender age of six, his abusive father bailed on him, his little brother, baby sister, and mother because he couldn't handle the rigors of marriage and fatherhood. My husband's mother had worked at Four Star Pictures in its heyday as a production secretary and script supervisor. Tall and strikingly beautiful, she caught the eyes of many Hollywood roosters, including David Niven, who regularly squired her about the town, much to his wife's displeasure. She, too, had a fatal attraction for larger-than-life dashing hommes, which ultimately led to disaster.
Then along came a spider--dark and handsome, chiseled jaw and piercing eyes, who also happened to be a prominent Los Angeles DJ. He took one look at my future mom-in-law and wove his charming web. She fell right into it. I know exactly how it went down, because I've fallen prey to that particular arachnid, too. Their courtship led to marriage, and their union almost immediately began to disintegrate.
My husband was born shortly after vows were exchanged, and that's when the marital turbulence began. Playing second fiddle to a cooing newborn baby was not what my husband's father had signed up for. He wasn't No. 1 any longer. When two more children came along, that was it. He couldn't handle the stress and the strain and the lack of attention. So he left. No farewell speech, no letter, no alimony, no child support. The coward simply slunk off. Suddenly saddled with kids and no prospects of a good-paying job, my husband's mother was left to fend for herself and her young, working multiple jobs both under and over the table, as well as applying for government aid. These circumstances denied her the luxury of being a nurturing mother. My husband, being the eldest, became a surrogate father to his younger siblings, and a monumental responsibility was thrust upon him. His mother never remarried, and consequently, her children had to pick up the slack of an under-funded, one-parent household.
I understand that when a young male is raised in an environment without an adult male role model, he "over-masculineizes." If there is no interaction with another prominent male, there is nothing to temper the unstructured male sensibility of a developing boy. I firmly believe that this is what happened to my husband. He over compensated in the testosterone department.
My husband was a virtual double of his father in looks and charm. To his credit, he did, and still does, occasionally exhibit a tenderness that throws you off; it's not in keeping with his exuded aura of machismo. His overt affability belies the steel-hearted, self-absorbed beast that dwells within. Of course, I instantly fell hard for him. I still hadn't learned to differentiate between perceived strength and real strength of character.
Smash cut to: 14 years later... The feeble economy of the country has taken a harsh toll on us. My husband's once-flourishing company has failed, and he hasn't worked in nearly a year. Writing projects that used to pour in for me have dried up. Our teenage daughter needs braces. We're living off credit cards. We're forced to modify our mortgage so that we don't lose the house. The Ebay Seller store down the street has become my second home as I haul carloads of stuff to it in the hopes of making enough money to pay next month's bills. I try to talk to my husband about our financial situation and make some kind of plan, but he refuses to even broach the subject with me. Why? Is he scared to face reality? Does he feel like he's let me down? Well, get over it! Life happens, and you've got to handle it.
Last October, after staring at the growing mountain of bills, I suddenly decided to take action. My husband obviously wasn't planning to make any positive financial moves. I guess he thought he could ride out the economic storm and wait for work to come to him. He squandered money on useless things instead of focusing on the problem at hand. Talk about a man in denial. Therefore, the burden of putting food on the table fell onto my shoulders. I found a part-time job at our local mall and began work immediately.
Upon hearing the news that I had obtained a second job, my husband chuckled and said, "Good for you." Good for you? It wasn't about me. It was about us. I was doing this for our family. When I remarked to my husband he might want to consider getting a job too, he railed at me. "I will never work for anyone!!!" When I dared to ask why, he childishly replied, "Because I just won't!"
I think about this a lot. What the big problem here? Is it ego? Or maybe it's a sense of shame or humiliation, to be looked down upon as some kind of failure. He probably believes that people will think less of him or that he would be working beneath his station in life. It's funny, though. It doesn't bother him one bit that I'm working well below my abilities. It's fine if I seek income for our coffers as an underpaid mall employee. I'm positive that's how he views the situation, and that's sad.
In the past, I've queried my husband about his concern for our family. How far would be go to protect us? I recall one time in particular when he looked at me aghast in disbelief that I could even formulate such a questions and answered, "I would take a bullet for you and our daughter!" That's nice, but last I looked, no one was shooting at us. And I find it very strange to think that he would be willing to sacrifice his life for his family, but he wouldn't be willing to accept a temporary minimum wage job in order to help keep us financially solvent. That's what you call a serious lack of humility and screwed up priorities.
Two weeks ago, I began another part-time job. I work nights Monday through Thursday and on Saturday from 9am to 3pm. I will also start yet another part-time job working Friday and Saturday nights and Sundays. This is on top of my 8am to 1pm job Monday through Friday. Yes, I will be working every day, 80 hours a week. I'm not thrilled about this, but it won't be forever. I have to do what I have to do. I'm paying the bills, putting food on the table, and keeping a roof over our heads. In the words of the King, Elvis Presley, "TCOB, baby." I'm taking care of business. In my estimation, I'm the real "man" of the house. The other one is just an impostor.
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