I love my husband.
Today is his birthday. I have a pile of presents for him, wrapped in my usual haphazard fashion. I hope he likes them (or else trades them in on something he likes better—I’m not attached to this particular batch of presents except as things he might enjoy), but really, he deserves something more than boxes and dinner out.
He deserves to be known for the wonderful person he is.
He has a lot of old friends, people who have known him far longer than I have. It takes care to nurture friendships that way and good character as well because eventually people get annoyed with jerks. The care is intrinsic to Brent’s personality. He lavishes it on even inanimate objects, like, say, the generator for the trailer in the back yard that has its own special labels he printed for it with the details of when it needs what kind of attention. Animate objects usually don’t submit willingly to self-adhesive labels, but do appreciate his loving attention.
It is perhaps a little old-fashioned to speak of good character, but so what? Brent chooses to do the right things. When there is need, he meets it. When he can weasel out of things, he doesn’t. He is careful, honest, dependable. He’s the one people call for help because he won’t hesitate.
Lest he sound unutterably boring, let me also say that he is fun. He makes me laugh. His brain works in interesting and entertaining ways. His take on the world is always intriguing, even if I don’t always agree with him.
In short, he is darn near perfect and I am glad he was born.