Chapel of the Canyon - Nov. 7, 1970
On this day forty two years ago, I married for the first time. The chapel was full of family and friends; the flower girls behaved and Karen Carpenter's song "We've Only Just Begun" played in the background. He was my first love and I wanted to believe that our life would be happy and our marriage strong.
What I failed to realize is that abusive men do not change. Throughout the two years we dated in high school he was verbally abusive, but managed to convince me it was all in good humor. When he started to control me I attempted to fight back with spirit and words. All that got me was a slap across the face; a push into a wall; or his repeated threat of taking me out to the desert and burying me.
Just weeks prior to the wedding date he actually did drive me into the Mojave desert and said if I ever looked at another man he would strangle me. The next day I went to work with a black eye. Although both the store manager and bakery trainer looked at me with questions in their eyes, nothing was said.
Family and friends were aware of his temper, but thought that once the wedding band was on and we were settled in our apartment on Cohasset Street, things would be better. And I kept my fingers crossed.
What this husband of mine didn't realize was that I had thoughts of my own. I had lived with my parents for nineteen years and was anxious to be free. This husband of mine was well known for his skill at playing football and everyone knew his green and white Chevy Impala. He belonged to a car club and, prior to the marriage, we would attend many of their functions. After we said 'I Do' we longer went to parties because he thought someone would flirt with me.
He expected me to cook like his Mother; keep a tidy house like his sister; and to forgive him for his abusive behavior. Its not like I was a wild pony that needed to be broken. I was nineteen with a full time job, a car that was paid for, and dreams of a house with a white picket fence and a boat for weekend outings.
He wanted a slave; he wanted a mother; he wanted a Stepford Wife. This was something I hadn't signed up for. When we would argue and after his slap; after the cold wash cloth; after his apology he would tell me this: "When you stop crying you can leave the apartment" or "When you stop crying you can get out of the car." Of course I would dry my tears, man up and be ready to flee. He never let me go.
On the last full day of our marriage he was angry that I had lost one of his socks. I told him I'd be happy to go check the dryer in the apartment utility room when he kicked me from behind. I saw his work jacket with the large metal zipper and I grabbed it and hit him in the face. He was stunned. He knew that was the end because its the first time I struck back.
As divorce papers were being prepared he found out he had been drafted into the army. [Let's remember this was 1971 and those things still happened]. He called to say he wanted to work on the marriage and would I please move to Gustine, Texas to live with his parents while he was in boot camp. I thought this man must certainly be crazy. I was not going to sell vegetables out of a truck and watch his father mistreat his mother. I declined his fine offer.
To my knowledge my first husband is still married to my 1970 Maid of Honor and they live in Auburn, California where he's a well known architect and she remains his slave. I wish them well.
But every time I hear "We've Only Just Begun" I clap my hands together and give thanks that I got out of that marriage alive. It proved to me that I'm strong and can certainly take care of myself. I didn't need to be his puppet or whipping post.
Abusive men do not change and that is my thought for today.