My wife, Aretha Franklin

Sometimes husbands or boyfriends might forget to consider the feelings of his wife or girlfriend. Or maybe it’s just me. But it’s something I do.

For instance, a painful one is the time I almost broke up with her over the phone while I was in a bar in Florida and she was in Kentucky, celebrating the passing of a board exam that would further her career. Why couldn’t I just talk to her without distraction, she asked. Why was the bar so important tonight?

The bar wasn’t that important, looking back. Obviously it wasn’t that important. But I wasn’t in the moment with her. I was 16 hours away and had forgotten about the weekend afternoons and evenings when I mindlessly played Playstation games while she wrestled with the months-long process of earning this new certification that would bring her personal satisfaction and higher earnings over her career. It would elevate her to an elite level as a teacher. It would certify that she was nationally qualified to teach.

I was in a bar in Florida because that was the dream I concocted when I was 18 and entering college. Five years later, I was in that bar in Florida. Living my dream. The dream, though, belonged to an 18-year-old. The guy with the amazing girlfriend who lived 16 hours away was ignoring the present to live in a dream created in the past.

We almost broke up while I was in Florida. I tried. My wife, though, persisted. Is this really what you want, she asked. Really?

It wasn’t.

Today is my wife’s last day of teaching. She’s moving up in her career and leaving the classroom behind. It’s an emotional time for her, but I haven’t really been in tune. This is my attempt at tuning in.

Just this morning I read a story about a husband who worked at a newspaper and insisted that his wife, a poet, stay home and write all day.

“I’m going to work and she’s going to write all day — when you are marrying a genius, that’s the deal,” he said, watching her on the swing. “It’s like marrying Aretha Franklin. She’s going to get to sing. If you hear Aretha Franklin sing — ”

“ — you understand what’s going on musically. Whoever was the first person to hear Aretha sing, understood. I just happened to be the first.”

My dream was to move around. The itinerant journalist. Place to place. Coast to coast. Florida. California. Maybe the Carolinas.

Then I moved to Florida and realized I couldn’t ask her to uproot. I couldn’t picture her there. I couldn’t ask her to leave a place she loved as I stumbled through career choices, not positive that this is what I was born to do when it was obvious that she knew what she was born to do.

Like the husband who married the genius, I recognized that it was important for her to teach and to teach in a place where she could be most effective. That place was where she already lived. I’ve said many times that I couldn’t ask her to uproot for Florida. I just couldn’t.

She would have, though. It’s amazing. She would have.

I was right. She has thrived. I’m not surprised, but I’m very proud. When I grow up, I want to make a difference like she does.

This week two remarkable things – things that some people never receive in a lifetime – happened to my wife.

A stranger stopped her in the optometrist’s office and doted on her. My niece talks about you all the time, she said. The lady then looked at me and said, You’re so lucky to have married her.

Well, yeah. I would have never tried to ruin that relationship.

That kind of interaction happens pretty frequently, really.

Then, yesterday she brought home a letter from a student. The student wrote “I love you” on three occasions in this letter. Can you imagine? Someone loves my wife for doing a great job. I’m pretty sure no one has ever said they loved me because of my work. I wouldn’t expect them to, but goodness. Wouldn’t it be nice?

To summarize, my wife is an Aretha Franklin. She is making the right move at the right time. She’ll be even better at what she does next. But this has to be tough for her. It does. She’s leaving behind a rock star career in the classroom for the unknown. It’s probably not as clear to her that she’ll continue to make her mark and be successful. People will still love her for doing her job well. That’s all unknown to her right now, but not to me. She’s about to cast a wider net and affect more students. While those students may not know to say I love you directly to her, they will.

I love you, Coury. I know this is hard. It will be until it’s not. But Emerson, Eliot and E. James are here for whatever you need. We have lots of love to share.