Truth be told, I am not married and have never been married, now at the sweet, tender, gullible age of 47. That’s right, the Chook and I (the Chook being my missus Marion) have never stood under showers of confetti and their lovely, tasteful representation of great fertility: clouds of sperm pouring luxuriously through the sky. And sure, from sheer deprivation I would have exploded in a cloud burst if something hadn’t changed all those years ago when we “clinched the deal” (read: became common-in-law partners, life souls, whatever). To be honest, I don’t know when we clinched the deal. One day more than seven years ago we were going out in Johannesburg before our overseas travels began, the next she had moved into my bachelor townhouse and I learned to distinguish between window-boxes filled with weeds and grass (including zol) and window-boxes overflowing with smiling azaleas, bizzy lizzies and other petal-hooded tender sages nodding in thoughtful readings of Wordsworth.
It was referring to her as my partner in the cosmopolitan mix of places we have lived in like Shanghai, back in the good ol’ Cracking China days of this blog, that made me change that word for “wife”. As you know, “partner”, is context-dependent and in different communities or nations it means different things. One American friend of mine in Shanghai, Rick, had never met The Chook, and I would refer to her as my partner. “My partner and I live on Beijing West Road.” “I like going to Oscar’s pub with my partner on Sundays for the terrific roast lamb.” One day Rick discreetly referred to the fact that homosexuality was pretty much outlawed in China and was wondering how we managed to circumvent that one. “Say that again?” I inquired. To further Rick’s disillusion, he knew my partner came from Zimbabwe and had come to the confident conclusion that my partner was also black. Immediately I pictured the delusion in his mind: that every evening I went home to be spoiled and serviced by a large, handsome, well-endowed and smoothly oiled Shona warrior. It turned out that pretty much was his vision. Not my five foot bundle of feminine joy and mischief. Come to think of it, though his attempt to be discreet about the subject was delicate, so to speak, it still had all the diplomacy of a large bovine lifting his tail. I burst out laughing and corrected him. He grinned weakly.
Some readers may object to my need to correct Rick on the sex and skin colour of my partner. To which I answer, if you are a gay Indian and your gay friends think you have a wife and that she is also Indian, you may wish to correct this and tell them that your partner is a he and he is Chinese. It’s just truthful and sets the record straight. Otherwise you are living a lie.
Thing is, the incident with Rick above was just one of many misunderstandings, sometimes including downright awkwardness, and so I found the word “wife” useful for avoiding wrong assumptions. Small and sometimes calculating silences that I had before, when I introduced my absent spouse as “partner” disappeared. Mind you it was fun watching various people from different nations and tribes trying to work through that one. It could tell you a bit on their stance on liberal thinking and same-sex rights, especially in some pubs (natural meeting places for travelling westerners in places like China) which are sadly notorious for homophobia and bigotry.
The more unpleasant experience was once staying with a close relative of Marion’s on a visit to England. They were extremely religious and we were required to sleep in different bedrooms as our personal, non-institutional vows to each other were not acknowledged. I found their prissiness rather ironic. This is because they were staunchly Catholic, and I need not remind readers of the tastes of some of their priests and the inadequate apologies of the current pope. How does one go about continuing to choose to belong to institutions like that? Denial? And if we’d been officially married, but in a secular court, without the blessing of their God? Would we still have had to consider tip-toeing to each other’s bedrooms like teenagers in the middle of the night in their home?
Just such a pity that so many have to define others by labels. (“He’s a Buddhist, therefore he’s … ” “She’s a lesbian. So she must be … “) If people are staunchly loyal to a particular institution (especially religious or political), even if it is subtle, their organisation is perceived as “better” than others, an agency for the “real” truth and correct values, and can include hidebound views on “correct” sexuality (or lack of it). Which reminds me of the time gays have tried to pick me up in pubs or clubs in SA and even in policed China. My puzzlement was with what their preferences were. How had they labelled me as desirable? I am fairly large, bald, and hairy. An old joke was that if Rod ever got stuck in the mud a tow-truck could haul him out by hooking into the fur on his back. In other words I am not going to make it as a yummy beef cake on the front cover of Playgirl magazine. I asked gay friends why some gays would go for me. “Some just like butch,” was the sympathetic response. My second concern was why would they choose “straight” pubs to look for a pick-up, or something more, when there was the real risk of some homophobes attacking them? That is not a value judgment; it just doesn’t make practical sense. Go where the market is, surely. I gather from same-sex friends that one reason is that some guys just need a bit of coaxing to come out of the closet and hide in straight pubs. And of course, homophobic people are sometimes unable to deal with their own denied predilections, so project that self-loathing onto others. Why else be homophobic? What is the threat? None, except for personal, unexamined drives. Don’t you just love this definition (6) on Urban Dictionary? I am sure some readers can add to the list of reasons, including attacking my viewpoint as valuing segregation.
So, I have perhaps “deluded” the reader (and the marvellous friends I have made through these blogs) for a long time. Marion and I are not married. We’re partners. Ummm … soul mates? Common-in-law spouses? Two partridges in a pear tree? Well, we really don’t care. We love each other and are suspicious of institutions.
What is the difference between partners and wives in NZ- Zero.Exactly the same rights in all aspects including immigration.The law made it so.
Yet these people have gone the extra mile to get married. what is the point anymore spending that money when it is the same as just living together.
Gays who live together also have the same rights.
People dont want gay unions to be called marriages something I can understand. Its like calling a carrot cake a banana cake. it just is not.
Why not call it a GAYRRIAGE.everybody then is happy
Marriage =heterosexual partnerships=homosexual partnerships = gayrriage in the eyes of the law.
Common law, not common-in-law!
Gay people are actually people, and so I imagine they want to go to the same clubs and bars as everyone else. If I were one, I would rather nobody noticed us as unusual. Gay bars etc are dated institutions (nearly obsolete, hopefully), because they are remnants of residual homophobia. In time, the number of gay institutions, clubs, etc worldwide will drop to zero. Remove the hatred, you remove the barriers.
I have exactly the same ‘problem’. My one friend refers to my partner as my wife, although I still balk at the term as to me it implies a legal status. If legally married then to creditors her assets could become our assets and my business is not successful enough to take the strain.
lovely, rod! i agree with your sentiments about marriage…
Marriage is an institution that requires commitment.
But then, who wants to be committed to an institution?
;~D
After 27 years my Zulu partner and I (German)are opting for a plain, gay civil union. We could have done without that fuzz if there wasn’t the inheritance tax.
“If people are staunchly loyal to a particular institution (especially religious or political), even if it is subtle, their organisation is perceived as “better” than others, an agency for the “real” truth and correct values, and can include hidebound views on “correct” sexuality (or lack of it)”.
I 100% agree with this statement. I do not subscribe and conform to the norms of any institution, ‘cogito ergo sum,.
many rue the day when institutions and sacred cows take a fall…. i don’t, ever. labels, tradition, maintaining the status quo are not my strong points. ground hog day is my worst nightmare. i was raised on the maxim, ‘if you are aren’t progressing, you are regressing and if you are regressing you are dying.’sticking to stereotypes has merit for some, yet for me, social satire aside, labels are a huge source of conflict which we shouldn’t need in our lives. well said rod!
She’s not your wife if you’re not ‘married’.
And, if you’re a woman, he’s not your husband if you’re not legally married to him.
When speaking about them, using their first name would usually indicate their sex, though not always of course.
I can’t believe you still felt the need to tell us. Did you think you were deluding us? I really couldn’t be bothered. Were you proposing to share my bed or my business a little extra detail might sometimes be interesting but why would someone whose only bond with me is an open letter…care to divulge such personal information? I’m more interested in what Chookie might be planting in her NZ window boxes.
And that’s not meant to put you down. Were you to write about Chookie being about to present triplets, it might be pertinent. What is it that makes us decide that the world needs to hear our personal detail? Do we need to get it off our chests?
My son went through 12 years of school without me explaining anything to anyone. Needless to say, his birth certificate was at odds with my explanation when I was asked blatant questions. It said ‘father unknown’. I would say: ‘his father died’. Everyone probably thought that I did have a clue who the father was and was lying. In fact, the truth was mine. When the child was off to Oz for a year, the Ozzies went bezerk at the last moment and wanted the father’s death certificate, which I don’t even have. Hell, we didn’t even attend his funeral!
So now we’ve shared…big deal! Have a nice life. It’s those little details that make absolutely no difference.
Massively Lopsided Hormones? I thought I had seen the last of you long ago. Pity. God you can drone and gabble on and seem to still have the same bitter heart. So much gall.
“How does one go about continuing to choose to belong to institutions like that?”
Why don’t you let people contininuing to choose to belong to those institutions in peace? If you don’t like them others sure do.
@MLH…
I find it hard to believe that the identity of a father can be that inconsequential. Was your son never interested in who his father is/was, or maybe wanted to have a relationship with him?
It happens at times that people, for whatever reason, want to keep a child away from one parent. In my view this is plain selfishness. Those people obviously dont know, or simply dont care, that they are damaging their child emotionally by doing this.
It doesnt matter how bad the parent is percieved to be, but it a childs right to know them. In any event, they couldnt have been all that bad as the mother/father saw then as good enough, to sleep with.
You only have to listen to the words of the rapper M&M, to hear how he had been affected by his mother keeping him away from his father, and making him out to be so bad.
Today he obviously hates his mother for doing this, and sees her as the bad one.
The Praetor
@ MHL – if that’s how you respond when you feel indifferent about a topic then I’m curious about the essays you have ready when the topic is of more interest to you. But I’ll indulge your rantings – it is called “identification”. He is sharing his experience, and some of us actually IDENTIFY with his “label” dilemma and discontent for certain institutions.
My partner/man/prince/spouse/pet/soulmate and I have been together for over 5 years. We live together, own our place together and have a child*** – the legal and social hiccups are endless. It’s a bit of a “label-limbo” within our demographic context – either deal with the assumptions and judgements made about being married at this young age or have your relationship not taken that seriously because of the easily applied and recyclable “boyfriend/girlfriend label. I think Rod’s “The Chook” solution has inspired me to find my own nickname… thanks!
*** we are not allowed to call her a “dog” in her presence – I risk it now because her majesty is asleep
I’m also suspicious of ‘some’ institutions, now all I need is a partner who will be suspicious with me, be open-minded and a tad bit politically correct- or maybe not. Then, for the sake of having the obligatory complementary relationship, I’ll be the politically correct one and he can be a bigot.
Anyway, some people have the need to put things in a box to make sense of the World around them so as to not draw any blood from their ‘hard thinking’ closed minds. To them, of course every Muslim guy is going to blow themselves up using some mode of public transportation, of course every gay guy is a raged sex maniac, of course every black person who drives a German sedan is an unqualified tenderpreneur, and of course, every white person wants to jump off this sinking ship called South Africa.
And for some reason, those who categorize other people feel better about themselves after doing so. I bet Marion’s staunch Catholic relatives were glowing in the light of their [Catholic] God the second they disallowed you the right to practise your personal, non-institutional vows in the same bedroom as your partner- a right you decided to waive, if I’m correct, so that they don’t feel ashamed about themselves the morning after.
So, is a labelling and stereotyping World inevitable? Although it’s human to try to understand things, educating oneself about others can go a long way in achieving peace.:-)
Marry the Chook. Just do it.
Atlas reader – you’re my Nike man!
I actually wouldnt mind doing a Buddhist ceremony together with the chook sometime.
Lindile Ndwayana – beautifully expressed and you have the same heart, “those who categorize other people feel better about themselves after doing so”.