The First Boy Was Always The Hardest.

Now, Now," My Father Said. "let's Just Get The Bags." This Was Typical. My Father, The Lone Male In Our Estrogen-heavy Household, Had Always Dealt With Any Kind Of Emotional Situation Or Conflict By Doing Something Concrete And Specific. Discussion Of Cramps And Heavy Flow At The Breakfast Table? He Was Up And Out The Door To Change Oil On One Of Our Cars. Coming Home In Tears For Reasons You Just Didn't Want To Discuss? He'd Go Make You A Grilled Cheese, Which He'd Probably End Up Eating. Family Crisis Brewing In A Public Place? Bags. Get The Bags.

Maybe Marriage, Like Life, Is'nt Only About The Big Moments, Whether They Be Good Or Bad. Maybe It's All The Small Things — Like Being Guided Slowly Forward, Surely, Day After Day — That Stretches Out To Strengthen Even The Most Tenuous Bond.

I Couldn't Imagine What It Would Be Like To Be One Of So Many, To Have Not Just Parents And Siblings But Cousins And Aunts And Uncles, An Entire Tribe To Claim As Your Own. Maybe You Would Feel Lost In The Crowd. Or Sheltered By It. Whatever The Case, One Things Was For Sure: Like It Or Not, You'd Never Be Alone.

"it's Gonna Be Okay," I Said. It Was The First Time In A Long Time That I Believed It. "it Will."

Sometimes Love Can Be An Ugly Thing.