You Be the Man

We stayed up to attend the midnight Christmas Eve service. After being married four months, this would be my first Christmas as Mrs. Dale.

Arriving fifteen minutes before the scheduled start, we had trouble finding a parking spot. We lived in a major city of 5 million residents. Big city, big church, big service. Ok, no worries. We’d just have to walk a bit.

When we opened the 18-foot wooden archway doors that weighed 5,000 pounds each, there were two greeters at the next set of ginormous doors leading to the sanctuary. They welcomed us and said to find a seat. It was pretty full, but there was room for two of us.

The real translation of “pretty full” was packed. Like sardines, people were saddled up hip to hip along most rows we could see from our entry point.

Rather than both of us look for a space to sit, I suggested to my tall, dashing new husband, that he cruise up the side aisle and take a look. Being 6’7” he had a Birdseye view of the situation.

He looked at me like I had three heads, his lower jaw gaping. Any color that was in his face had drained, leaving his skin a pallid gray.

“Hey Babe, can you take a look?” I encouraged.

“Are you serious? What if I can’t find a seat?” he whispered way too loudly.

I wonder why he’s so resistant? Ok, this is still a new role for him, but seriously? He needs to suck it up buttercup. He’s the husband.

The musicians played carols of old. I stared at my husband anew.

Determined, I whispered, “Be a man. Just look for a seat.”

“YOU be the man!” he spewed.

And so we stood. At the back of the church.

For an hour.

Because I would not be the man, and neither would he. Our first Christmas memory as Mr. and Mrs. Dale.

This phrase has reared its head throughout our 25-year marriage. One time I purchased a power drill for him, and I transformed a walk-in closet into a home library. When he arrived home from work, I presented the drill to him and then led him to the library.

“That’s your drill,” he said.

“Ok, well it’s for you.” Husbands have power tools, right?”

”You be the man,” he said. “It looks great.”

When in labor with our first child, he confidently professed he was glad he was the man.

It took a couple of decades. He IS the man now. And, he has used the power drill more times than I can count.