Ring Toss - March 5, 2017
My mom turned down two proposals of marriage from my dad before finally agreeing. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. She just didn’t want to be tied down. In the 1940s and for decades after that, getting married meant giving up your job and your lifestyle. My mother was hardly wild – she lived at home with her dad. But she loved being able to do what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it, without having to give account to anybody. Thankfully, she married my dad who followed the maxim “Happy wife, happy life.”
She could not understand why I, with all the freedoms I had in the 1970s, wanted to marry my first serious boyfriend. I met Laurence when I was 18, and had taken him off the market by the time I was 20. Not only that, I proposed to him.
In the year 1976/77, I was going to school at Guelph University, and Laur was going to Brock. But, chatting one weekend, we realized that in the year 1977/78 we could potentially live in the same city. I would still be going to Guelph U., but Laur was changing to McMaster in Hamilton. Much closer. We didn’t have a car but, in those days, hitchhiking was a normal way to travel, and having thumbed his way to Vancouver and back, the 30 km from Guelph to Hamilton didn’t seem unreasonable to my hubs-to-be.
How did I propose? It was easy. Laur kind of unwittingly set himself up. Said, he, “If we’re going to be able to live in the same city…” And then stopped dead in the middle of his sentence, so I finished it for him, “then there is no reason we can’t get married.” At which point he flushed and stammered, “I guess not…” Not with great enthusiasm, I must say. More like a calf who simply drops his head into the cowboy’s noose to avoid the struggle.
What about the diamond engagement ring? Well, we were starving students so that wasn’t expected of him. But not wanting to let my fiancé think he had any chance of getting off the hook, I noticed a diamond “chip” ring on a half price sale in a store window. “Laur,” said I, “There’s one.” We went into the store. It fit; Laur bought it. We eventually bought matching wedding bans at Woolco. (Wow! There’s a blast from the past.)
While I may be an anomaly, I’m not unique. A dear friend of mine also didn’t want to wait around for her beau to propose. One weekend she simply announced to him, “Ian (not his real name,) I’ve bought THE DRESS!” To which he responded something like, “That’s good.” Not much you can say after that except maybe “Umm. I’ll buy a suit,” and just make yourself comfortable on the conveyer belt that drags you to matrimony.
My husband’s dad was also not a fan of getting married too early. As a pastor who had married many young couples, he had seen many of these early birds divorce after a few years, and end up fighting to the near death over a few worms. He and my mom commiserated at the wedding. I learned years later that she said, “I give it a year.” (Not true, as it turns out. Come April 30th, we’ll have been married 40 years. Maybe she was only joking.) To which Laur’s dad responded, “Good thing they found each other – no one else will have them.” (Quite true, as it turns out. Neither of us have had any other serious offers. I’m not joking.)
Still, I have no intention of renewing our vows this anniversary or any other anniversary. The last thing in the world I want to do is give Laurence any sense that he could say, “I don’t!” Also, for forms sake, we might have to spend money on rings again. I lost my wedding band when one of our kids was a baby. I took it off when cleaning up a particularly messy bottom, and I guess I disposed of it at the same time as the diaper liner. As for my diamond ring, I’m sure it survived the dozens of moves we’ve had since we got married – I’m just not sure where it’s living out it’s hidden existence.
I am wearing a wedding band though – a nice gold one. It’s the one my dad married my mom with. She gave it to me when, having been widowed a few years, she remarried. Understandably, her new husband wanted her to wear the ring he gave her. My hubs didn’t care; he was quite happy to save the price of buying me another piece of jewelry to lose – a few hundred bucks equals a lot of Mexican food meals in Arizona.
My mom had a beautiful diamond ring that accompanied the band. I told her recently that the only thing I wanted from her estate when she passed (and she has no intention of doing that until she’s met every great grandkid that’s going to be born) was her engagement ring. She looked wide-eyed at me, not with anger but incredulity.
Said she, “Don’t you remember? I haven’t had that ring since 1984 when we visited you in Sudbury at Christmas! Your husband, Laurence, threw out the entire box of my jewelry when he was bagging up all the wrapping paper and empty boxes!” Oops! I guess, if we’d only lasted a year, she’d still have her engagement ring. On the other hand, our four kids added three birthstones to her family ring. (Two were born in the same month, hence three gems, not four.)
I didn’t ask for the family ring; nor did she offer it. Laur and I are not exactly reliable in this area. Rather than giving it to us, perhaps she is considering cutting out the middleman/woman and just putting it out with the trash.
(I joke, Mom.)
She could not understand why I, with all the freedoms I had in the 1970s, wanted to marry my first serious boyfriend. I met Laurence when I was 18, and had taken him off the market by the time I was 20. Not only that, I proposed to him.
In the year 1976/77, I was going to school at Guelph University, and Laur was going to Brock. But, chatting one weekend, we realized that in the year 1977/78 we could potentially live in the same city. I would still be going to Guelph U., but Laur was changing to McMaster in Hamilton. Much closer. We didn’t have a car but, in those days, hitchhiking was a normal way to travel, and having thumbed his way to Vancouver and back, the 30 km from Guelph to Hamilton didn’t seem unreasonable to my hubs-to-be.
How did I propose? It was easy. Laur kind of unwittingly set himself up. Said, he, “If we’re going to be able to live in the same city…” And then stopped dead in the middle of his sentence, so I finished it for him, “then there is no reason we can’t get married.” At which point he flushed and stammered, “I guess not…” Not with great enthusiasm, I must say. More like a calf who simply drops his head into the cowboy’s noose to avoid the struggle.
What about the diamond engagement ring? Well, we were starving students so that wasn’t expected of him. But not wanting to let my fiancé think he had any chance of getting off the hook, I noticed a diamond “chip” ring on a half price sale in a store window. “Laur,” said I, “There’s one.” We went into the store. It fit; Laur bought it. We eventually bought matching wedding bans at Woolco. (Wow! There’s a blast from the past.)
While I may be an anomaly, I’m not unique. A dear friend of mine also didn’t want to wait around for her beau to propose. One weekend she simply announced to him, “Ian (not his real name,) I’ve bought THE DRESS!” To which he responded something like, “That’s good.” Not much you can say after that except maybe “Umm. I’ll buy a suit,” and just make yourself comfortable on the conveyer belt that drags you to matrimony.
My husband’s dad was also not a fan of getting married too early. As a pastor who had married many young couples, he had seen many of these early birds divorce after a few years, and end up fighting to the near death over a few worms. He and my mom commiserated at the wedding. I learned years later that she said, “I give it a year.” (Not true, as it turns out. Come April 30th, we’ll have been married 40 years. Maybe she was only joking.) To which Laur’s dad responded, “Good thing they found each other – no one else will have them.” (Quite true, as it turns out. Neither of us have had any other serious offers. I’m not joking.)
Still, I have no intention of renewing our vows this anniversary or any other anniversary. The last thing in the world I want to do is give Laurence any sense that he could say, “I don’t!” Also, for forms sake, we might have to spend money on rings again. I lost my wedding band when one of our kids was a baby. I took it off when cleaning up a particularly messy bottom, and I guess I disposed of it at the same time as the diaper liner. As for my diamond ring, I’m sure it survived the dozens of moves we’ve had since we got married – I’m just not sure where it’s living out it’s hidden existence.
I am wearing a wedding band though – a nice gold one. It’s the one my dad married my mom with. She gave it to me when, having been widowed a few years, she remarried. Understandably, her new husband wanted her to wear the ring he gave her. My hubs didn’t care; he was quite happy to save the price of buying me another piece of jewelry to lose – a few hundred bucks equals a lot of Mexican food meals in Arizona.
My mom had a beautiful diamond ring that accompanied the band. I told her recently that the only thing I wanted from her estate when she passed (and she has no intention of doing that until she’s met every great grandkid that’s going to be born) was her engagement ring. She looked wide-eyed at me, not with anger but incredulity.
Said she, “Don’t you remember? I haven’t had that ring since 1984 when we visited you in Sudbury at Christmas! Your husband, Laurence, threw out the entire box of my jewelry when he was bagging up all the wrapping paper and empty boxes!” Oops! I guess, if we’d only lasted a year, she’d still have her engagement ring. On the other hand, our four kids added three birthstones to her family ring. (Two were born in the same month, hence three gems, not four.)
I didn’t ask for the family ring; nor did she offer it. Laur and I are not exactly reliable in this area. Rather than giving it to us, perhaps she is considering cutting out the middleman/woman and just putting it out with the trash.
(I joke, Mom.)