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I am
- was - a huge George Clooney fan. I used to call my husband in
to watch Dr. Ross, because something this perfect had to be shared
with a loved one.
Until one day last year, when Jay
Leno hosted Clooney on his show. Some of you may remember the
episode. George was featured right before a group of quadruplet
six-year-old girls. During the girls' interview, Clooney, as leading
guest, remained onstage.
I will never forget what he did when
the giggly pink sisters first scrambled to sit themselves down:
he very purposefully moved his chair WAY over, eyeing the noisy
children suspiciously. As if these four little girls were going
to eat him.
And he made a number of remarks,
faces and gestures throughout Leno's deft (and warm) interview
with the quads that made it clear: for all of his pediatric posturing
as Dr. Ross, George was a man who was frightened to death of kids.
That day, I fell out of crush with
George Clooney.
I also realized - maybe for the first
time on an entirely conscious level - one very major thing that
made me fall - and makes me stay - in love with my husband:
My husband loves children. He loves
being a father.
His paternal side colors everything
he does.
Like in the "old days",
when he used to read his law books, in soothing tones, to the
baby. He had to study for the Bar, but he wanted to read to the
baby, too.
Now that I was thinking about it,
I remembered what he had said during one memorable "Ultimate
Relationship Talk." When the word "marriage" came
up, he exclaimed: "Marriage? You mean - - Breakfast? Dinner?
Diapers?"
That was marriage, to him, even then.
The day-to-day family stuff.
He is nothing if not a realist.
But, I think, he is also a romantic.
In the sense that the ordinary "laundry
stuff" is a togetherness that we want to share. In the sense
that giving a baby medicine and picking out clothes for a five-year-old
would be dim chores, except that they are part of the fabric that
weaves us together.
I watch him joke around with our
toddler and I think: Who is having a better time? The baby, or
my husband? It's hard to tell. The baby gets that.
I watch him talk philosophy with
our precocious kindergartener, and I think: Who is expanding who?
My husband is so open, so fluid, with him, that my son is probably
asking himself that same question. And smiling inside.
I should point out that my husband
has a demanding job that keeps him away from home most evenings,
and he does the majority of his fathering by phone or on weekends.
And yet, I am not hung up on the
quantity of time he does or doesn't spend with the kids. Because
when he is around, he is so approachable and easy that it is hard
to imagine a critical word escaping his lips.
He and the boys laugh a lot.
Of course, he expresses disapproval
when it matters, but he does it without prejudice. There's never
any doubt who's side he's on.
My sons have a supportive coach,
a gentle guide, a mild male role-model.
And I know they feel this, because
they always ask for him first.
This never makes me jealous; I think
it's a tribute to our love and a credit to us both.
It makes me feel: I chose right.
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