At the eager age of 21, I married my high school sweetheart. We had known each other since we were 17, she had waited whilst I served a mission in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, and was willing and happy and hoping to get married when I returned home.
Because I took a two-year hiatus to my education, I was behind her in studies. She graduated a couple of semesters after we wedded, taking a job at a school in the Jordan School District while I rounded out my final year or two of coursework. She had a miscarriage in the summer of 2006, and our first born child came two days before I graduated as part of the class of 2007.
Throughout the entirety of our time together as a married couple, we've both worked. In fact, I've never financially supported her. We've worked together to make sure we had enough money, and though I've occasionally earned more than she, it's always been the case that Gayle has provided for the family. Soon after the birth of our first child, I was unemployed--but she carried us until I found something. When I changed jobs, she was providing that support and stability. Then I changed jobs again. It wasn't until July 2008 that I found my place in the world, in a little charter school built in a renovated bowling alley. I've been working there ever since, now a week away from completing my ninth year. In short, we have done a lot together--some we've accomplished separately, but together, we've done the increasingly impossible: Forged a working marriage with both partners in the labor force.
This has not come without sacrifice and assistance. Our mothers both enjoy their grandchildren, and their lifestyles have given them the chance to be the daycare for our three boys. This is a temporary experience for everyone, though it's seemed interminable. Soon enough, our youngest will be in school full time, and "Grandma Daycare" will no longer be needed. Nevertheless, for the entirety of my children's lives thus far, their grandmothers have loomed large.
The decisions that we've made that have put us here have been ad hoc, for the most part. There's a reason the saying, "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans." When we set out, we never planned on a miscarriage. We didn't expect a heart baby. We never thought that Gayle would make a career out of her teaching, including opportunities to travel all over the country, attending conferences and trainings, awards and banquets because of her worth as an educator. We didn't think that I would be seeing my 34th birthday pass without so much as a secondary glance at any of what I'd written. We never thought that it would be like this, is what I'm saying.
But that isn't a complaint. It's an observation. The life we've landed in has been one that's a natural outgrowth of decisions and choices--some within our control, most without it--and has been, for the most part, an enjoyable and pleasant life.
Having the imagination that I do, however, I'm always left to wonder. I can't really conceive of a life without my boys or not married to Gayle. I don't wish to explore what that would be now. But I'll always wonder about what I would have become. I'm sure there are other timelines where I'd be dead by my own hand, or perhaps successful but without some of what I currently consider crucial to who I am. Maybe there's a Homeless Steve in some continuum, or a Smart Steve, or a non-Mormon Steve, or a Singer Steve. It's impossible to know, but tantalizing to think about. What could I have done had I not fallen in love with Gayle? Surely many of the alternative Steves would be as incapable of living without their joys. The possibilities of what I could have been are in no way an aspersion toward what I am--and I think any alternate universe would find me in a similar sense of satisfaction.
But what household could I have had? Would both be alike in dignity? I'm pretty sure that every alternate Steve still loves Shakespeare, though. How could I be any other way?
Because I took a two-year hiatus to my education, I was behind her in studies. She graduated a couple of semesters after we wedded, taking a job at a school in the Jordan School District while I rounded out my final year or two of coursework. She had a miscarriage in the summer of 2006, and our first born child came two days before I graduated as part of the class of 2007.
Throughout the entirety of our time together as a married couple, we've both worked. In fact, I've never financially supported her. We've worked together to make sure we had enough money, and though I've occasionally earned more than she, it's always been the case that Gayle has provided for the family. Soon after the birth of our first child, I was unemployed--but she carried us until I found something. When I changed jobs, she was providing that support and stability. Then I changed jobs again. It wasn't until July 2008 that I found my place in the world, in a little charter school built in a renovated bowling alley. I've been working there ever since, now a week away from completing my ninth year. In short, we have done a lot together--some we've accomplished separately, but together, we've done the increasingly impossible: Forged a working marriage with both partners in the labor force.
This has not come without sacrifice and assistance. Our mothers both enjoy their grandchildren, and their lifestyles have given them the chance to be the daycare for our three boys. This is a temporary experience for everyone, though it's seemed interminable. Soon enough, our youngest will be in school full time, and "Grandma Daycare" will no longer be needed. Nevertheless, for the entirety of my children's lives thus far, their grandmothers have loomed large.
The decisions that we've made that have put us here have been ad hoc, for the most part. There's a reason the saying, "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans." When we set out, we never planned on a miscarriage. We didn't expect a heart baby. We never thought that Gayle would make a career out of her teaching, including opportunities to travel all over the country, attending conferences and trainings, awards and banquets because of her worth as an educator. We didn't think that I would be seeing my 34th birthday pass without so much as a secondary glance at any of what I'd written. We never thought that it would be like this, is what I'm saying.
But that isn't a complaint. It's an observation. The life we've landed in has been one that's a natural outgrowth of decisions and choices--some within our control, most without it--and has been, for the most part, an enjoyable and pleasant life.
Having the imagination that I do, however, I'm always left to wonder. I can't really conceive of a life without my boys or not married to Gayle. I don't wish to explore what that would be now. But I'll always wonder about what I would have become. I'm sure there are other timelines where I'd be dead by my own hand, or perhaps successful but without some of what I currently consider crucial to who I am. Maybe there's a Homeless Steve in some continuum, or a Smart Steve, or a non-Mormon Steve, or a Singer Steve. It's impossible to know, but tantalizing to think about. What could I have done had I not fallen in love with Gayle? Surely many of the alternative Steves would be as incapable of living without their joys. The possibilities of what I could have been are in no way an aspersion toward what I am--and I think any alternate universe would find me in a similar sense of satisfaction.
But what household could I have had? Would both be alike in dignity? I'm pretty sure that every alternate Steve still loves Shakespeare, though. How could I be any other way?