On August 11, 2008, one of the last precious nights before the start of another contract year teaching, I went with my colleague, Kathy, and her boyfriend, Rezki, to the house party of a friend of Rez’s from high school.
“Come with us,” Kat said. “It’s Jeremiah’s birthday. I think you’ll like each other.”
I was skeptical and emotionally worn out. By then, I’d spent three years on the Houston dating scene, which meant long Friday night Happy Hours that sometimes ended in terrible decisions with co-workers, followed by primping through hangovers for Saturday nights at Red Door or Belvedere inside the loop. There, the yuppy oil/gas execs and Med Center MDs could be found trawling. These weekends usually concluded with Sunday Fundays at La Strada for boozy recuperative brunches–sometimes with a guy, and sometimes with Kat and Courtney, another young, single teacher I was close to. Lots of drinking, lots of socializing, and inevitably, lots of drama.
I rarely spent an entire weekend at home sober, though I still somehow managed to squeeze in planning and grading for two different courses. My energy levels were different then.
By that point, I’d met a lot of men. They were all either machismo-arrogant, commitment-shy, weird, besotted with ex-girlfriends, too old, or just plain sleazy… nothing had worked out. A few short-lived relationships had ended in fiery wreckage, and these guys still thought they could text me wasted at 2 am to say things like, Thought you were an 8 but you’re really only a 7…
This, from the same guy who opined that all women could be rated 1-10, though 10s didn’t exist and 9s were rare, so I should be flattered to be judged an 8…
I was sick of it all. Sick of being objectified, ghosted, you name it. This disillusion was powerful enough to finally trump the creeping anxiety I felt at the prospect of ending up alone. That was silly given I was only twenty-six, but you know how short sighted youth can be.
So, I decided I was done. No more going out, at least for a while. No more looking to meet anyone. I’d take it easy, allow myself to rest over the weekends, and focus on being the most conscientious and professional educator I could be. Only good things could come from that, I figured. I needed to get my crap together.
Then, Kat came along with that invitation, disrupting my plans.
I could have said no. But, the reality of another long, difficult school year loomed ahead, and the thought of some final summer fun was too attractive. So, I agreed to go with Kat and Rez to this guy Jeremiah’s 33rd birthday party at his garage apartment in The Heights.
I didn’t hold out much hope for him. I’d been disappointed too many times. He’d probably wear thick-framed glasses and be short, squat, and obnoxious in some way. All I remember Kat saying about him was how smart he was. For some reason, in my mind that precluded him from being nice or good-looking.
I figured, I could at least hang out with my best friend, drink someone else’s beer, people watch, and maybe let this birthday boy amuse me. It sounded better than staying home alone.
I should have trusted my friend. Kat knew me better than almost anyone else.
When we arrived at the party in that trendy bo-ho neighborhood inside the city’s loop, I was shocked at the number of people already there. Thirty at least, exuberantly packed into the small, neat yard between an old 1930s bungalow and a large garage apartment with steep wooden stairs. There was at least one keg of beer well on its way to floating and a large inflated ball pit, the kind you see at kids’ play places. Inside the pit were multiple grown-ass adults lounging and crawling over each other in drunken laughter, holding up their Solo cups in futile attempts to keep from spilling their Lonestar.
I remember grinning. This was a surprise. Definitely different, and it did look like a lot of casual fun, exactly what I needed. No need to impress anyone.
Then, Kat introduced me to Jer.
He was tall, six feet at least. Broad shoulders and a nice, slender build. Large, bright, nearly almond-shaped brown eyes that swept over everything and everyone in a way that was both friendly and pleasantly proprietary. Immediately, he smiled at me. Our friends had told him they were bringing me, and he also knew we were being ever-so-gently set up.
Oh, that smile. In that moment, it was his best feature. Large, natural, and dazzlingly sweet. Straight, white teeth, too. I wouldn’t say I was swept off my feet, exactly, but I snapped to attention.
He was also kind to me. Right away. There was never any aloofness, never any head game, not even that night when he was the star of his party. That might not sound terribly interesting, but this wasn’t the hook in some formulaic rom-com. It was real life, and I needed someone like him. A man who was sweet, transparent, ready to have a good time, and happy to avoid unnecessary conflict.
Jer alternated gracefully between sitting with me and making his rounds among all his friends, who kept pouring in, more and more of them. I think in total nearly fifty guests stopped by that night. He knew so many people, and everyone adored him. There were plenty of back slaps, hugs, guffaws, and allusive friend-speak, those ridiculous, coded exchanges that meant nothing to us who lacked context. He was ultimately inclusive, though. He let no one feel overlooked.
He made me a definite priority. We talked about all kinds of things, none of which I remember exactly. But I do recall how he made me feel–welcome, comfortable, appreciated, and, by the end of the night, special, and he did it in a totally respectful, natural way that never felt weird, over-eager, or icky. He had the most wonderfully natural self-confidence I’d ever seen in anyone, and a wonderous sense of playfulness and whimsy–hence, the ball pit. He was also hilarious; his humor was quick, witty, and sometimes absurd but never biting or bitter.
He had a dog, a black labrador-greyhound named Jib, who looked even happier than Jer at all the petting and attention he received. It was clear Jer adored his pup, and that was the final bright green flag.
Jer seemed so effortlessly happy that night, and for me, that was a powerful appeal. Neurotic and insecure as I could be, I was drawn to his kind, charismatic energy.
I gave him my number, and that was basically it. From there, we started dating. We discovered how compatible we were in interests and tastes and fell into exclusion pretty much right away. I also had a chance to witness, early on, what a noble and gracious soul he truly was, and that was the tipping point for me. It proved I had indeed met a man who was authentically good, a rare someone who was absolutely worth keeping and striving to be the best partner for (though I’ve always fallen short). We became good friends as we fell in love, and in so many ways I felt centered, maybe for the first time in my adult life.
My professional goals went to crap that year, though. My students’ state assessments scores weren’t great; I’d been too distracted by my wonderful new boyfriend to do a great job preparing them. Oh, well.
A few dating highlights:
We spent an entire week together at his place right after Hurricane Ike, when half the city didn’t have power and school was cancelled for ten weekdays. A delicious cool front swept through, and the air was crisp and alive. We stayed up late every night talking and drinking bottles of expensive chianti on his porch, Jib falling asleep at Jer’s feet.
Later in our relationship, we spent most Saturday mornings getting coffee at Onion Creek–where Jer was an unofficial VIP who could cut the line because he was a favorite with the baristas–then bumping around The Heights in his topless Jeep (when it wasn’t too hot) looking at houses we might eventually rent together, discussing and daydreaming about all kinds of odd things.
Finally, one September evening a year in, we were the last couple to venture toward the exit in the lobby of Jones Hall, after the Houston Symphony’s performance of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth, my favorite symphony, one I’d said was on my bucket list to experience in concert.
“Let me offer you something else from that list,” he said as he got on one knee. To the collective gasp of lingering patrons, he proposed, much sooner than I anticipated.
We spent that night in the penthouse suite of Hotel Icon downtown, sipping Dom Perignon. I still have that bottle. It was a truly perfect marriage proposal.
Now, we’ve been together for seventeen years, married for fifteen–we celebrated our anniversary just a few weeks ago, on July 31st.
Had you told me right before I met Jer that this would be my future, I would have given you owl eyes. Up to then, my two serious relationships, with my high school and then my college boyfriend, had only lasted eighteen months each. Though I wanted it, a lifetime of monogamy seemed like a feat that maybe I couldn’t pull off, restless as I always became and as objectionable as the men always were.
But I’ve never considered leaving Jer. There’s never been even a hint of a reason. I trust him completely, and I’m so grateful that I can.
We discuss all the important things together; there are no secrets. He still adores me and spoils me responsibly, which I respect.
He won’t, however, take my crap when I’m crabby and knows how to point out when I’m being ugly, usually by gently suggesting I take a walk or a nap. It usually works. We’ve gotten good at communicating through our irritation.
When our nonspeaking daughter was diagnosed with Level II Autism Spectrum Disorder in 2018, we were able to absorb the emotional impact together. We’re still very much problem-solving partners when it comes to raising our special kiddo.
As couples do, we’ve grown and changed, and thankfully that’s happened together. His most powerful appeal to me now is his enduring humor. Literally every day, he makes me laugh. Even on the days we get peeved with each other, or our patience is frayed, he’ll say something hilarious (often without realizing it), and if I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of laughing (though that’s rare), I have to grit my teeth. That humor has been our saving grace. It brings such an important levity to our lives, a much needed one given our sometimes difficult and frustrating circumstances.
On that note, Jer’s an amazing father.
Not perfect (neither am I), but no one is. He’s unconditionally loving, however, and as nurturing as I am, if not more so, and always open to learning and growing into the best kind of daddy for our little girl.
He also just celebrated his 50th birthday.
It was particularly special because we had family travel all the way up here to celebrate with us, including his uncle and younger brother, who he hadn’t seen in over four years.
He and Derek had a fantastic time running around the NEK together–no wives, no kids to drag along–utterly free for a while to be, simply, two brothers reunited. I think that was the best gift anyone could have given him.
I will concede, though, that the lightness, the easiness Jer possessed when we first met is nearly gone. That smile of his isn’t quite the same, despite the appearances in these newer photos.
I don’t think that denotes anything awful or tragic; it’s probably natural. Of course, the responsibilities he carries now, as a husband, father, and bread-winner in this chaotic world, are far heavier than they were then, and everyone’s back bends a little under such weight.
I worry, though, that caring for us has robbed him of certain vital things. He can’t rush off on an impulse to sail a boat. He can’t go hike the Appalachian Trail. He can’t take a lower-paying part-time job in order to write a book that I know would be fantastic.
He barely has time to write now, even on his blog. I do my best to encourage him–I suggest we sprint together, or that he start a Substack for his Schooner Bum’s Guide to Project Management idea, which I think would kill it on that medium. I send him notice of publication opportunities that I think would suit the pieces he’s already done. He’s a talented writer, far better than I am. He placed second overall years ago in the Children/YA fiction category of the Writer’s Digest Annual Writing Competition with his children’s verse A Dragon Tea Party, which he dedicated to Daphne and briefly queried. Too briefly, in my opinion.
He works long hours, in a challenging job, bumping up against a salary ceiling that remains stubbornly lower than he’d like, despite all his professional accomplishments and years of promises from supervisors about wage increases and promotions. AI is already whittling down his department. But he goes on for us.
I try to encourage him to make time for his creativity, but I also don’t want to pressure him too much. Hopefully, our work together on Mythic Moose, our online trading card game shop, is giving him some kind of creative outlet. He’s done an awesome job with the branding.
I hope Daphne and I haven’t robbed him of an amazing thing he might otherwise have done if we hadn’t come along. We love him so much and want all the best things for him.
Okay, this is heading into bleaker territory, so I’m going to stop now. Suffice it to say, we cherish him, and these celebrations have been the perfect opportunity to remind him of how wonderful he is, and how lucky we are to have him.
See you in a few days! I’m making up for lost time. It’s been a busy August.
I hope your summer’s ending well.
XOXO,
Jenn
Jennifer Shaw 