A cheerful woman in her fifties began working at a beauty parlour not so long ago, and I remember how lively and joyful she was every day. She always had a smile on her face, kept busy, and was diligent with her work. The owner could not have been more delighted with her, and I shared that feeling myself. She worked as a hairdresser, while I did manicures, and when time allowed, wed chat together.
Most often, our conversations revolved around our children, grandchildren, our previous jobs, and the lives weve lived. Sometimes, it seemed as though there was nothing more to discuss, but then youd start talking about your daughter, only to discover she had a daughter too. I would mention my son-in-law, and she would tell me about hers, and so the talk flowed easily.
One day, during a quiet afternoon, I lamented that my children were in no hurry to give me grandchildren. They lived comfortably and could afford it, but always claimed they barely had enough time for themselves. They preferred travelling and seemed not to think of children at all.
My colleague shared that her situation was somewhat alike, but she never made a habit of pressing her children about it. Her daughter hid the identity of her intended for quite some time. He was a young man of modest means, studying at university and working part-time. He needed to help his family with his younger siblings, so he had no chance to buy a home of his own, lodging instead with a friend in student housing. To many, he might have seemed an unsuitable match. Yet, the most important thing was, he truly loved her. He went above and beyond for her, and was afraid to meet her parents, fearing rejection.
The soon-to-be mother-in-law met him only three months before the wedding, with everything already arranged. The celebration was very quiet and modest, attended by just a handful of friends. The young man had worried too much, as she took to him instantly. They found conversation easy, bonding quickly, and it was clear to all how devoted he was to the bride.
I never understood why my daughter was so afraid to introduce him to us, my colleague reflected. She knows me well enough. Im not the sort who insists on wealthy partners for her children. My own husband grew up in the country, and, after our wedding, settled into the city with help from my parents. The only things that matter to me are that hes a good man, loves my daughter, and knows his limits with the drink. Everything else will come in time.
I couldnt quite agree with her. Ive known many people who lived in poverty and unhappy marriages, and if you spend your days fearing your life will turn out poorly, perhaps it truly might.
