List, list, O, list!
~William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Mom and I had our arms up to our elbows in warm, sudsy water, washing dishes from our Thanksgiving dinner. Mom had just shared how much she liked my boyfriend, John. It was the first time my family had met him, and Mom had beamed when John presented her with a bouquet of freshly cut flowers. Dad had taken such an instant liking that he asked John to help carve the golden brown roast turkey. All had gone better than expected, but now my mom had a puzzled look on her face because I had just told her that I had to break up with him.

“But why?”

“He’s six years older than me, and your rule is no more than five.”

My mom had a list of rules for how to find the right marriage partner, and the rule of no more than five years’ difference was on the list. After carefully studying successful and failed marriages, Mom had determined an age difference larger than five years could well lead to incompatibility later in life.

I had already ignored Rule #1: “A relative or close friend should introduce you.” Mom felt that my family and friends would know if the guy had good character and would be a good match. How could I explain that John and I had met in a bar on Singles Wednesday? He smiled and introduced himself, and we started talking every Wednesday after that until he finally asked for my phone number. Mom hadn’t asked how we met, and I wasn’t volunteering.

While my former boyfriends had been from North Carolina, and my parents often knew the boyfriend’s family, John had been born and raised in Los Angeles. His favorite foods included sweet corn tamales and chicken enchiladas with mole verde sauce. He needed me to explain Southern sayings like “if the creek don’t rise.” As a Duke professor, he traveled all over the U.S. and Europe to attend conferences, while I explored the East Coast.

I was my parents’ only daughter, born and raised in Greensboro, North Carolina, a graduate of East Carolina University, and an elementary-school teacher. I had moved an hour away to Durham, but in many ways it was a world away. I lived near two major universities — UNC-Chapel Hill and Duke. UNC has always been our state’s pride and joy, and one brother, two uncles, and several cousins were UNC grads. We all cheered for the Carolina Tarheels. Dean Smith, the UNC men’s basketball coach, was often quoted in our home. Barely ten miles from UNC, that other university, Duke, with its impressive gothic architecture, was a nice place to visit, but we Tarheels considered Duke to be the devil, just like its mascot. Every year when the UNC men’s basketball team played the Duke Blue Devils, the rivalry between the two teams and their fans became even more intense.

“What religion is he?” my dad asked. Yes, another rule for a spouse. My parents felt that marriages worked best when both persons worshipped alike, and both my mom and dad came from a long line of Methodists, including several ministers. John, however, did not identify with one denomination, and he felt no need to go to any church — an answer that did not sit well with my parents. How could I get them to see that he lived life in the way that churches hoped their parishioners would? I saw the way he treated others with respect, taking the time to thank a person for a job well done — from the short-order cook who prepared his omelet to the volunteer firefighters at their annual fundraiser. I knew that he spoke well of a person or said nothing at all, just like my dad had taught me. I knew that he was as good as his word. I knew, without a doubt, that he was a good man with a strong moral compass.

I loved John with all my heart, even if he didn’t fit Mom’s list of rules. I noticed the way he listened to opposing viewpoints, stating that he had definite opinions, but that good evidence could convince him to reconsider. He seldom offered his opinions unless asked, but when he spoke, I never second-guessed what he meant. Underneath his quiet reserve, he had a passion for his research, and when I asked a question, he would draw diagrams and explain the concept, without ever making me feel less intelligent.

He worked long hours, and his research was often cited, but he always acknowledged that his work built on the ideas and research of his mentors. He appreciated my passion for teaching remedial reading to kids who needed successful school experiences. He understood the importance of my family and friends in my life. Most of all, I loved the way he made me feel about myself. With John, I could be myself — my best self.

My parents wanted to get to know him better. John joined our family for Christmas, several Sunday dinners, and Mom’s family reunion the following June. John and I visited his California family in July, and I enjoyed getting to know his mom, sisters, aunt and uncle, cousins, and best friends from high school. The two of us drove north on the Pacific Coast Highway from Los Angeles to San Francisco, and John showed me places he loved in his home state.

In late July, we visited my family to announce our engagement. My brothers and dad welcomed John with firm handshakes, and one niece gave him a bear hug, but I could tell that Mom still had reservations behind her smile. Which rule still worried her?

“Mom, I thought you’d be thrilled. I’m in love with him, and he is with me.”

Still trying to understand Mom’s hesitation, I added, “And you said that the six years didn’t make a difference, that he looks young for his age.”

As I held my breath, waiting for her answer, I realized how desperately I wanted my mother’s blessing. I wanted more than an acceptance of John as my future husband. My hope was that John would be welcomed with open hearts as a member of our family.

“I’m not worried about his age, or that he’s from California. I love how he looks at you, the way he treats you. I love the way he laughs when you are sharing your stories. He loves you for who you are, just as you are. You two should be married. But my team is UNC, and John’s team is Duke. All I ask is that I never have to watch the UNC-Duke basketball game in the same room with him.”

For the man of my dreams, love of my life, the one who didn’t fit Mom’s checklist of rules for how to select the right mate, this was Mom’s only concern? No problem.

— Suzanne Garner Payne —