Jennifer

In the great John Cusack movie High Fidelity, there is a voice over midway through the film where Cusack states that when it comes to dating, "You have to punch your own weight." A theory that essentially says that you can go up a level, but if you go too far up in class, disaster will ensue.

On October 13, 2001, I married Jennifer Erin Zent. And she is way out of my league.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a pretty good person. My wife however, is a great person. I have three basic standards for kindness: How do you treat the elderly, children, and animals. My wife is aces at all three.

While still in college, Jennifer's grandmother was stricken with lung cancer. She practically moved into her grandparent's house taking care of her busia (polish for grandmother). She helped her to the bathroom, fixed meals, and cleaned up her vomit. A few years ago, my own grandmother was hospitalized after suffering from a heart attack. I watched my wife feed my grandmother when she could not do it for herself. And when my grandmother died while I was out of town, she went straight to my mother's side and stayed with her through those first horrible hours. My mom might have been lost without her on that awful day.

Jennifer also volunteered at the drastically underfunded local Head Start program for under-privileged children, and did so with a glad heart. For years she ran the children's department at Barnes & Noble where she read stories to children with gusto and created crafts for the kids who attended her events. She has something I don't have--the facility to find a child's mind fascinating. She can reach down to their level without pandering, because she doesn't have to feign interest.

Her love of the furry and four legged should not be overlooked either. When my precious 16 year old Australian Shepherd died, she left work to be with me and my family. And she cried too. She insists on getting our animals from no-kill shelters. She didn't blink an eye at the expensive cancer treatment required for our beloved Shar Pei-Beagle mix, Sarah, which gained us one more joyful year with that sweet dog. After that nasty disease finally claimed her and we finished crying buckets, we went to Pet Refuge and picked out the saddest dog at the shelter to take home with us, a gangly, broken-hearted coon hound named Lily. You see, she believes that all of us deserve a chance, canine, feline, or human.

Her loyalty to her friends should be the stuff of legend. She remains close to those she grew up with, and when her oldest and dearest friend lost her mother, it was Jennifer who held her hand and walked her up to the casket to say the hardest of goodbye's. I watched from afar in complete and total awe.

She's never been drunk or even tried drugs. She rarely swears, is unfailingly honest, and has a faith that puts mine to shame. Yet somehow, this beautiful creature (inside and out) took a look at a bald, misanthropic smart ass with a checkered past and chose to be with him, to be with me.

Now, she will read this and think I'm silly. Which both delights and bemuses me. The fact that she finds me worthy of her love--while bewildering--is the greatest compliment I have ever been paid. In response, I can only try to love her back. A skill that on occasion, I could be better at.

I do very much love the movie High Fidelity. There is great truth and wisdom in it. And the advice about "punching your own weight" makes a lot of sense. However, I have spent the better part of the last eleven years with the finest person I have ever met. So to hell with punching my own weight. Because for over a decade now, I wake up every morning feeling the way Buster Douglas must have felt the day after knocking out Mike Tyson--champion of the world, baby. Anybody want to guess why?

Sumo-Pop
February 14, 2010