My
Husband—Hero Lee
“Daddy,
I’m going outing tomorrow. Would you please take me to buy snacks and outfits?”
said Jimmy.
“Daddy,
come here. Teach me something about physics and mathematics.” said Carl.
Jimmy,
the second son of Hero aged 12, is very strong and almost as tall as his
father. What he likes to do most is eating. For this reason, Hero is accustomed
to buying all food in weekly visits to the shopping mall, bringing it home in
the car and storing it in the deep-freeze. Carl, the first son of Hero aged 14,
is a little thin, picky and taller than his father. Carl never goes to cram
school because Hero is his private tutor. Both of them have the same characteristic.
That is to say, when they need help from their father, they always smile up at
him and put their hands on his shoulders and murmur that pet name which he’s
always been a sucker for, then the most determined father in the world is as
helpless as a baby. Indeed, ever since they are old enough to cry or flutter
their eyelashes, they have very little trouble getting their way with him. For
the two brothers, Father is like the almighty God who can satisfy their desires
to their heart’s content. When they were very little, Father was their
playmate. He accompanied them to play baseball, basketball, soccer and bowling
or even swim. He taught them how to ride a bicycle and held a contest with
them. What’s more, he was their coach of roller-skating. At any rate, he is
fond of every sort of sport and he hopes his two sons have his heredity.
Because he never yells at his sons, or wave his fist at them threateningly, or
call them a good-for-nothing, his sons enjoy getting along with him.
It
is thoughtfulness that moved me twenty-four years ago. I made the acquaintance
of him in the harmonica club when I was a freshman. He was senior to me by two
years. In addition to music lovers, he was so good-natured that he was willing
to help others. Moreover, he was so sentimental that he would shed tears when
we went to see sad movies. Since we married and purchased our own house sixteen
years ago, we have cherished our life very much. Once we have reached home, we
are interested in working to improve it and in making it as pleasant as
possible. Especially for him, there is a strong incentive to spend much free
time at home when the home is well-equipped, comfortable and attractive. One of
his first activities at home is making things, mending things and décor. Apart
from that, there is a hi-fi stereophonic sound, and in most parts there are
many programs to choose from. Caught up in the rhythm of the music, Carl plays
the piano while his father, Hero, whistles and I hum. Jimmy just listens.
On
the one hand, if I don’t like something he says, I’ll let him know it right
away. “Let bygones be bygones” is always our life of philosophy. From time to
time, when I feel upset or in low spirits, he is always ready to meet me
halfway. Thus, we seldom have an argument. On the other hand, he is a man of
few words. However, he is trustworthy. I like to share my secrets with him. He
is my loyal listener. As a mentor, he frequently gives me intelligent and
constructive comments.
What’s
better, Hero is a good cook. Every Saturday night we have a family reunion with
my parents and sisters. From planning the menus, doing the necessary grocery
shopping, preparing the meals and serving them well, he can arrange a delicious
feast to make everyone amazed and satisfied. In addition, he is good at making
tea to entertain friends and relatives.
Hero’s
easy-going and generous manner makes him win a good reputation among
co-workers, neighbors and friends. Even my sister’s pet, a puppy, likes him
most because he always gives it tasty food and takes it to go everywhere.
In
spite of many good points, Hero has a shortcoming I can’t put up with from the
beginning. In other words, he is so forgetful that he always forgets to turn
off the light. Hence, I often tease him wherever he goes, the light will follow
him like Apollo.
Nowadays,
with his constant encouragement, I can smoothly pursue the advanced studies. He
takes care of sons, cleans up, cooks and does all housework so that I can be
absorbed in my teaching and studying. Sixteen-year harmonious marriage makes
our sons grow up in good health. However, as time goes by, little by little, I
find a few fishtail wrinkles on the face. Youth is so fleeting that I am no
longer young as I used to be. I can’t help telling Hero my fear and sorrow.
Amiably, he consoles me with Mattew
Arnold’s “Growing old”.
What
is it to grow old?
Is
it to lose the glory of the form,
The
lustre of the eye?
Is
it for beauty to forgo her wreath?
-Yes,
but not this alone.
Is
it to feel our strength—
Not
our bloom only, but our strength—decay?
Is
it to feel each limb
Grow
stiffer, every function less exact,
Each
nerve more loosely strung?
Yes,
this, and more; but not
Ah,
‘tis not what in youth we dreamed ‘twould be!
‘Tis
not to have our life
Mellowed
and softened as with sunset-glow,
A
golden day’s decline.
“Tis
not to see the world
As
from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes,
And
heart profoundly stirred;
And
weep, and feel the fullness of the past,
The
years that are no more.
It
is to spend long days
And
not once feel that we were ever young;
It
is to add, immured
In
the hot prison of the present, month
To
month with weary pain.
It
is to suffer this,
And
feel but half, and feebly, what we feel.
Deep
in our hidden heart
Festers
the dull remembrance of a change,
But
no emotion—none.
It
is—last stage of all—
When
we are frozen up within, and quite
The
phantom of ourselves,
To
hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
Which
blamed the living man.
In
order to let me take a rest and have sufficient energy to attend class, Hero
takes me to Kaohsiung
How
do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and
height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For
the ends of being and ideal grace.
I
love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light,
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I
love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I
love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s
faith.
I
love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,-- I love thee with the
breath,
Smiles,
tears, of all my life! And, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
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