When I was a child, a common summertime event was a trip to my mother’s parent’s farm. Getting her three boys and one girl — all under the age of 10 — ready for the 90-minute drive was a daunting feat. How did she do it? It was her commanding voice which froze our little hearts with healthy fear: “Don’t mess with Mom.”
Off we flew as we left Danville, Illinois, southbound on Route 1, past Westville, Paris and Marshall, where she turned east toward the Wabash River, through the tiny town of Palestine, which led to the farm.
Since both of her parents would live to be 99, the farm became a deep root of our lives. Childhood memories flood back: ice-cold well water with its aftertaste of iron, the wholesome smell of fresh cut hay, the chorus of coyotes which commenced at nightfall.
But there is another memory which serves as an introduction to today’s column about building a happy marriage (or relationship). When my grandfather asked me to go to Palestine to buy feed for his pigs, I jumped, “sure!” On the way there, I spied an old dilapidated wooden building on the river bank.
“What’s that?” I asked. “It’s the old grist mill,” he replied. “Two huge circular stones — one running clockwise, the other counterclockwise — would grind the corn or wheat into flour or cornmeal. The mill was powered by the river currents, which pushed a paddlewheel that turned the stones.”
He began to chuckle to himself. It needs to be mentioned that my grandfather had a reputation for jokes. I asked, “What’s funny, Grandpa?”
“Well, Dick, every time I see that mill it makes me think about marriage. You see, when you’re young and newly married, each man or woman has their own peculiar edges — but after a few decades, guess what? Just like the two stones grinding each other down, marriage partners grind all the rough edges until a smooth surface appears.”
“What shut the mill down?” I asked. He replied, “Blame it on electricity.”
Having set the stage, here’s today’s story. Research findings have identified one of the reasons marriages fail. What’s its name? Invalidation. Invalidation is a destructive communication style, where one person devalues the other. Here’s an example:
Dr. John Brown, a Notre Dame history professor, is in the process of moving into a new office. After removing stacks of papers from his closet, he spied a penny lodged in a floor crack. He plucked the Lincoln penny up and his eyes popped out — it was dated 1909. Being a numismatist — a coin collector — his heart thundered when he saw the lettering VDB, S. He had found a rare coin.
Like a puppy with a new chew toy, he dashed off to tell his wife, Mary, who is an attorney. Mary, reading a complex legal brief, heard her husband enter the office.
“Mary, I found a 1909 VDB, S Lincoln penny!”
As Mary inspected the coin, she said, with a sarcastic tone, “It’s so worn, I can’t see the date. Is it VD or STD?”
Deeply hurt, John made this silent promise: Never tell Mary about anything I value.
Let’s now correct Mary’s statements. Mary stood up, hugged her husband and asked, “What does VDB, S mean?”
He smiled, “VDB are the initials of the coin’s designer, the S is the mint — San Francisco, where it was made.”
Mary gushed, “Let’s celebrate over lunch.”
At lunch, John told Mary something he had never said before.
“My father would take me to the bank every Friday afternoon and get rolls of coins. We’d search through the coins for ones we needed to fill our coin books. The only slot unfilled in my father’s penny book was a 1909 VDB, S. When he died, I was 10. After his death, I could not bear to touch his coins, so I collected on my own, using my own books.
Mary asked, “Are you going to put this penny into your father’s book?”
“Yes,” he replied.
That evening, he showed Mary his father’s completed coin book, and read the words his dad had written in the book. “Dear John: This coin album will be yours someday — I hope it helps you remember how much I love you. Dad.”
Conclusion: One penny, an old grist mill and a grandfather that made you laugh. What’s it all about? It’s about three key points:
The day after my grandfather died, a stack of joke books was found in his dresser. The message — making people laugh or building a good marriage requires work.
The grist mill model of marriage is OK, but, when it is combined with communication skills, things get smoother quicker.
Who can you blame? You come home from work exhausted. You open the door, and no one greets you. You turn on the light and the bulb blows. Your kids are upstairs in their rooms, playing video games. Your spouse has left this note — “refrigerator broke, food spoiled — here’s a box of cornflakes.”
Blame your spouse, yourself, your kids? Never! Blame it all on electricity!
The content of this column is for educational purposes only and should not be used as a substitute for treatment by a professional.
References: “Fighting for Your Marriage,” H. Markman, 1994.
Dr. Richard Elghammer contributes his weekly column to the Journal Review.
