The stories we say

You know what one of my favorite things about being married is? Having a captive audience. Turns out I like to talk quite a bit, and Kevin gets to hear most of it (though Leslie gets to read a lot of it via gchat).

And you know what one of my favorite conversation topics is? Me! I like to think that deep down that's everybody's favorite conversation topic (themselves, that is, not me personally).

Anyway, one of the interesting things about opening up and sharing so much about myself is how it helps me remember other stories about myself. For several years, I think my favorite conversation topic was boys. Yeah, I was one of those boy-crazy teenage girls. I don't think I actually knowingly flirted very much (not suave enough for that haha), but I think I spent a lot of time talking to and thinking about boys.

And that's fine and normal, but once you get married it's kind of a boring conversation topic. The big stories are still good stories, like the date to a funeral which also involved an emergency trip to the hospital and a ride in a tow truck, or the time I answered for senior ball with a word search that managed to have some unintentional innuendo in it, but most everything else I just don't care about anymore.

So that meant I had to dig deeper and start remembering stories from before I was a teenager. Turns out I remember quite a bit from back then, no thanks to my journal of course. The journal I used from age 8 to 11 has about one type of entry in it, each spaced a few months apart:

"Mom/Dad sent me to my room! They are so mean to me!!! I bet they're not even my real parents! My life is the worst!!!"

So it's basically only good for helping me keep track of how often I was sent to my room.

Despite that, by talking to Kevin, I've managed to unearth quite a few stories from the way back when. Like how Leslie and I used to grab pillows and put them behind our heads to dance to the Triss-Trass Polka. Or how the green Jello-Jigglers I brought for St. Patrick's day in 1st grade were stolen by some leprechaun (translation: 4th grader) and scattered across the playground.

And in return, I've learned lots of wonderful things about Kevin. Like his fascination with Davy Crockett, complete with the coonskin cap. Or how in high school his friends spent their time carving out a cinderblock from a wall of the soon-to-be-demolished school (during concurrent enrollment classes, of course). Or how he tormented his younger sister by dropping her stuffed animals off the landing at the top of the stairs because they had nothing to live for anymore.

I think the main reason I love hearing stories from our pasts is that it helps me understand both of us much better. There's a connection we get from learning that we had the same opinion about a lot of things growing up (like hating sports in gym class). And even the things we didn't agree on (e.g. he thought movie musicals were boring because there was too much dancing whereas I liked them) has helped us gain a better understanding of each other and where we're coming from. It's like each story is another puzzle piece that helps complete the picture of the person I've chosen to love and spend eternity with.

I think Vienna Teng sums it up just right in "Eric's Song" (my favorite love song):

And with each passing day

The stories we say

Draw us tighter into our addiction

Confirm our conviction

That some kind of miracle

Passed on our heads