Once upon a time, not so long ago, I was a preteen. And, like so many other preteens, I wondered a lot about love and why in the world people would want to have sex anyway. With my parents fighting every so often, I wondered why my parents loved each other. To reassure myself that they did love each other and just out of curiosity, I decided to ask each of them--when they were alone with me--what they loved most about the other.
Dad and I were driving home from someplace or other, and we had a little time, so I decided to try my question out first on him. I was kind of shy about it, though, so it took me a bit to work up my courage.
"Dad, what is the one thing you love most about Mom?" I asked.
He was silent for a while. The windows fought off attacks of rain and the windheild wipers squeaked. The black night was spotted with headlights getting smaller and larger again as they got closer and farther away. My stomach was jumping in the same way the raindrops bounced off the windshield.
"The way she sees beauty in everything, the way she thinks everything is beautiful." he said.
"Oh. Cool," I said.
"Good question," Dad said, still in his pensive tone.
"Thanks," My voice was very quiet by now.
We were quiet the rest of the way home, but it was a thoughtful silence. I digested what I had just learned, full of warmth at the knowledge that my dad really did love my mom. At least a little.
Mom was next. I asked her a few days later, when we were driving home at night from my violin lesson. Tonight the sky was clear, and dotted with a few stars. I could hear the whoosh as we passed cars in the lanes next to us. Mom has always been a fast driver.
"Mom?" I asked.
"Yes, honey?" She was squinting at the road.
"What do you love most about Dad?"
Again, there was a silence, but a shorter one.
"Well--can I only pick one?"
"Yes, Mom," I clarified.
We zoomed along the highway for a few silent minutes, the red hindlights glaring at us as we passed them.
"I think--it's the way he's like an anchor to me. Always bringing me back to where I am. That's what I love most about him," she replied at last.
"Oh. Cool," I said.
Soon we were chatting about other things as we drove our way home in the headlight-spotted dark.
Well... I don't know why I posted this. It's just a funny memory for me now, I guess. I don't even know if my dad loves my mom anymore. Is he just here because he feels a duty to her? I don't know. It's hard to know.
I know this isn't a forum, but I feel kind of like asking this anyway. For anyone who's reading, what do you love most about the one you love? Maybe it's too personal a question... I don't know. I'm in kind of an odd mood tonight.