Mahschocolate

I recently got a request to learn more about the things I appreciate about Pedram, other than his conscious respectful decision to keep the porcelain bowl spotless, and I automatically thought of a few things I wish he would change, like his incessant desire to leave me alone at home for 9 days alone with the needy dog.  I do NOT appreciate how he cannot resist finishing all the desserts in the house without leaving any for me.  Or his inability to not comment when I wash dishes and they are not spotless.  If only he saw how I washed the dishes last night, they were definitely not spotless — ha!

I digress from my intention to make this a positive post.  One of the things I do appreciate about my husband is his character, which is sometimes the hardest thing to describe about him.  He isn’t romantic, at least not in the definition of modern times, such as flowers or chocolates or surprise love poems in my lunch box.  He doesn’t serenade me before I go to bed, he doesn’t profess his love to me in public, and he doesn’t even always tell me what I want to hear.  Not that I would necessarily need that — he recently wrote an endearing post on my facebook page and I called him a liar.

But in the hidden track that is our relationship, between the loud sonatas of our arguments and the whimsical steady rhythm of our ease with each other, through all the trombones blasting our fun trips, or jazz relaying our meditations, in the fine lines of the musical sheet of our marriage, there lay small details that make me appreciate him so much.

He has great manners in a way that is effortless.  He is respectful to elders, and shows patience towards children.  The way he helps me with my coat, the way he ensures I am having a good time in a crowded party, how he opens the door for me, all without ever feeling obligated to do so.  These are things that he was taught or learned from watching his elders, clearly, but that he also encompasses truly and fully, naturally.

It is the kindness he shows when he actively listens, even though there are a million things on his mind.  The way he supports me in my endeavors, making my priorities his priorities.  How easily he can have a conversation with people from different backgrounds with ease.  And I have a love/hate relationship with how many languages he speaks.

It is more than that though, it extends to the way he folds and organizes his clothes, the creases in his shirts, how he eats his food, it is all like a delicate sport.  He waits for me before starting a meal, a courtesy I rarely return.  He finishes my sentences in french when he sees that I am struggling.  He is attentive to my outfits, he carries my handbag when I need him to, the way he walks — never rushed, never clumsy.  I used to attribute this behavior to him being European, but the truth is, I married a gentleman.

You can’t learn it in a book, and in my humble opinion, you can beat it with any set of roses.  I always call him an old man, but maybe that is a part of his charm, the essence of him, which is hard to find in younger generations.  I don’t think it can easily be taught, but it really should be.  It is the difference between telling someone to give up their seat on the bus for an elderly person, and them just knowing that they should.  It is the right thing to do — and for me, it is very romantic.

Wow — that was much cheesier than I was planning on being.  Excuse me if you found that excessive.

When I think of other men that I admire in the same way — a few come to mind immediately.

My father, and how he treats all the women in his life, me, my mom, my sister, his mother, his sister.  He was the first feminist in my life, a model figure for that old style of charm and chivalry mixed with “don’t let anyone put you down cause you are a girl”.  I could write a book (maybe I should) about the things I learned from my dad, and another one for all the things he never intentionally taught me, but I learned by watching him.

My father in-law, for so many reason, but for sure how he dresses up for every occasion — always looking stylish and impeccable.  In a world where people wear sweatpants and sloppy jeans, he and his friends wear three piece suits to have coffee together, and they don’t slouch.   Ever.  I need to stop slouching.

Ryan, the husband of a close friend, who, in a sea of immature boys, represents class and character.  When we would go out, Ryan would always walk me to my car, without question, without even offering.  It just always felt genuine.

Seb — just cause I know he is reading.  Seb is a good guy.

I am blessed to have so many great men in my life.  I’d love to hear about any stories other people have to share about great men in their lives — and what they consider romantic.