Let's Talk about Sex.

Yet another study strengthens the case for traditional families, but will our sex-obsessed society take notice?

Dr. Laura had it right in describing the rise of sex as a commodity. You cannot escape it, and it is permissible everywhere except, apparently, in a committed marriage. I read a 'Dear Abby" column in the paper yesterday in which a reader wrote a response to a question from a lonely husband: "I do all these nice things for my wife, and she still won't have sex with me! What can I do?"

The response? Stop pressuring your wife and being so selfish. The responder's husband also is guilty of planning numerous romantic dinners and occasions in the expectation that fun will ensue. Not so, says the responder: he should stop expecting and start merely hoping, but oh, keep up the romanticism. "Remember," she writes, "it's about what you are giving, not getting." Well, news flash - she's not giving, so he's not getting. What more does he have to give? The columnist agreed with the responder (of course).

But these days, sex outside of marriage is sacrosanct and not to be tampered with, under any circumstances. This article is astonishing in that it seems to take the men's side, yet refuses to condemn the culture of casual sex which led to the dilemma.

"And yes, sure, you can say a man doesn’t have sex if he doesn’t want a
child…but let’s discuss this as if we’re living in the real world, ‘kay?"

This is the weakest argument in the world, similar to the one used to justify giving birth control to pre-teens: "They're doing it anyway, shouldn't it be safe?" This view is defeatist, in that it assumes that we don't have the power to change society or impact our kids' development. Similar platitudes are used to advocate legalized drugs. Anyone who uses this argument has abandoned principles and ushered society to the dung heap. Sure, kids are going to have sex and people are going to do drugs, but we should not give up the fight to safeguard our principles and values.

Sex is a wonderful thing and a necessary part of marriage. It is also a profound expression of love, particularly for us guys. How many women complain that their man turns into a zombie afterwards? Ever consider that maybe we do because we've just given so much of ourselves, not just physically, but emotionally as well? I think the idea that men can have sex without emotion is a bunch of garbage, meant to blunt the empty feeling that results from casual sex. I think Dr. Laura is unique in advising couples to be each other's lovers as well as spouses. Most advice columnists and therapists give the authority to the woman to decide, and the man awaits her whim, often with the admonition that 'sex isn't that important to the relationship.' Then it must be okay for the man to look for sex elsewhere, isn't it? Give me a break!

Max Lucado had a wonderful sermon series called "Pure Sex." It's about this wonderful gift we've been given, and how to use it according to God's will. You can find it on iTunes, and I highly recommend it.

So what does all this mean? We need to continue to combat the sexualization of our culture. Teach our kids that sex outside of marriage is wrong, and encourage them to wait, no matter what the world around them says. After all, can you really trust a world that says wanting casual sex with strangers is OK, yet wanting it from your spouse is selfishness?

Schools Gone Wild.

First it was teacher/student sex scandals, then birth control for pre-teens, and now this.

"It states: "Displays of affection should not occur on the school campus at any
time. It is in poor taste, reflects poor judgment, and brings discredit to the
school and to the persons involved.""

The vagueness of the policy makes it a stretch to think that detention for a hug is an appropriate punishment. Especially since the 'incident' occurred at a football game. It's not an isolated occurrence, either.

""It was made to be something ugly and it wasn't," Muir said.
She says the
hug wasn't meant to be sexual. She says her daughter was consoling a male friend
who recently lost a parent."

It's frightening to think that those who are entrusted with the education of our youth have such poor judgement. There have always been rules against "PDAs" at schools; such rules were designed to prevent excited teenagers from playing tonsil-hockey in the halls and encouraging appropriate behavior. Now the goal is different:

"In 1999, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled schools could be held liable by ignoring
claims of sexual harassment. Some say the ruling puts schools between
a rock and a hard place. By not identifying all suspect behavior, they risk
liability."

Time was when harassment was dealt with by either a slap across the face or the intervention of a gentleman. Some guys wolf-whistled a girl in my high school band class once, and the director went ballistic. In the '70s, a teacher actually slammed a football player against the wall for inappropriately grabbing a girl. Unfortunately, the sexualization of our culture means that such actions are either acceptable or grounds for a lawsuit.

Fear of liability has neutered school officials and robbed them of the capacity to judge for themselves.

Link to image source.

Helicopter Parents.

If you supervise teenagers, as I do on occasion, then you've surely run into this creature. Mom or Dad will call in for the kid when he doesn't feel like working, or will call in righteous indignation when Junior is written up for failing to do his job properly. My favorite is, "Sissy isn't coming to work today or tomorrow because we have important family activities planned."

The phenomenon has really drawn attention at college campuses. Professors dread the harangue of the indignant parent who demands that their chick and child receive a better grade from Dr. Scrooge. It doesn't matter that Buffy never came to class; that's not her fault! The class is too early, she has important extra-curricular activities, etc.

A new study even lauds such behavior as helping the kids get more out of the college experience. I always thought the college experience was to be independent and get away from home.

"Though excessive contact with parents might inhibit learning and development,
students in frequent contact with their parents are more satisfied with their
college experience, according to the new survey."

Notice how the effect on grades is secondary to satisfaction with the college experience. I find myself now in sympathy with my Roman History professor who refused to end any class session even a minute early because we were paying for it. If you're going to spend $20,000 a year on an education, shouldn't good grades be a priority over "the college experience?" These parent's are harming more than the kids' grades, however:

"we should tell them by words and deeds that it's OK to fail."

That's exactly what these kids are not learning. By having Mommy and Daddy ride to the rescue in any situation, they will not know how to deal with adversity on their own until it's too late. One cannot learn from one's mistakes unless one is allowed to face the consequences. Sooner or later these kids will have to deal with the real world in which things will be demanded of them, which no one can smooth over for them. Parents need to sever the cord and let their kids stumble on their own once in a while. That's how you mold children into adults.

Update: I suppose there are alternatives to being a helicopter parent. Sheesh.

Dilemma for the Modern Man.

I came across this post while surfing on Blog Explosion. I agreed with most of it, because the author feels as I do, that kids should be raised by two parents who are married. However, I was saddened by the thought that single men today might actually be considering giving up the joys of marriage and fatherhood out of fear of divorce.

I agree that marriage and having kids is not something to be done lightly, but at the same time, if you wait until conditions are perfect, you'll never get there. You cannot perform Due Diligence on a prospective spouse and be 100% sure that the marriage will work. Marriage is a life-long process that is rarely perfect. There are bumps in the road, and it takes a team effort to keep the car on course.

But, both of you can and should talk about marriage and what it means to you before you tie the knot. Better yet, speak to your pastor or a Christian counselor who can help you understand what God wants from a man and woman who have committed their lives to each other. If you cannot do those things, then I'd recommend you at least read Dr. Laura. She's wonderful.

As I said in the comment to the post, and here before, the state of affairs today which would drive men away from marriage is due to the rise of radical feminism. All is not lost, however. There are many women who still believe that men have value, and understand that we each have a role.

Never Forget.

9-11-2001

A Walk Along the Canal.

Sometimes the greatest pleasures we experience in this world are the simplest, and some of the greatest adventures we have are the least eventful. I gained an understanding of this contradictory truth during my semester at Harlaxton College near Grantham, England.

The Gregory Arms was a popular hangout for the college students, and many of us could be found sitting at the bar on weekend nights, chatting with the locals and sharing pints. My regular conversation partner was an old Canadian ex-patriat with an interest in history and a degree in mathematics. We talked about anything from the origins of the Etruscans to the Japanese economy. One night, however, he told me about something different.

"If you want a nice walk," he said, "follow the Grantham Canal to Woolsthorpe, and have lunch at the 'Mucky Duck.' It's not far, and makes a nice stroll for a Sunday morning."

The next morning dawned and I rose early, determined to take his advice. I donned my trusty work boots which had served me well from Poggio Civitate to London. Slipping into my denim jacket to ward off the morning chill, I made my way into Harlaxton to find the canal. One had to walk past some of the more ramshackle dwellings to a small bridge, then turn sharply and descend, passing beneath the span to put your feet on the old tow path. After successfully navigating this course, I found myself experiencing one of those quintessentially simple pleasures that it's almost impossible to experience with someone else.

The canal was narrow, and here and there a boat was pulled up to the bank, paint faded and tarp-covered. The waterway wound through the countryside, autumn fields rising up on either side of me as I casually walked along, enjoying the sight of the occasional lock with it's black gates and immense wooden levers. The weather was perfect, with just enough sun to drive away the gloominess of autumn, and enough clouds to keep you from squinting. Groves of trees and water plants broke up the landscape, giving you the sense that you were actually going somewhere as you moseyed along.

Just as the sun was drawing to its peak and I was starting to feel warm, I reached my destination. The Dirty Duck (its real name) was that wonderful mixture of quaint traditional and cool modern that typifies English pubs. It seemed fitting, like my solitary walk, that I was the only patron there at this particular lunch hour. I had a sandwich, of what I don't remember, and a pint, probably John Smith's Bitter, my staple while I was at Harlaxton. Both were good, and after a relaxing break and a casual glance around the pub, I stepped back outside to the canal.

I paused for a moment as the warm October sun shone down on me and I looked down the path, first one way, then the other. I felt full of energy, as if I could cover the entire 27 miles to Nottingham in the remainder of that day. The Midland country air tends to have that effect on you, and will tempt you if you let it. But I had funds for lunch, not a hotel, and the magic would surely wear off with the setting of the sun; and I had classes the next day.

I resisted temptation that time, and turned back to the now-familiar way that led back to school. The sun was warmer, so I doffed my jacket and bounced along, not caring that I had forgotten my camera to chronicle my excursion. Such a device would have stolen the soul from the day, and I did not miss it. I had plenty of drawing paper in my room, and could capture my memories well enough in that fitting medium.

I walked along into the afternoon, nodding to the old scows as I passed, my only companions on that special journey. I climbed the bank to the bridge and made my way through the still quiet village, though the gates and in the door of the manor, back to the world of dart games and British Studies.

Parenting.

This piece appeared in the Indianapolis Star's free tabloid, INtake. It's supposed to be a publication for the young and hip to find out what goes on in Indy. Most of them are quickly disabused when they find out that what goes on is not much. This is evident from the tone of some of the departing columnists, who lament that Indy never lived up to their expectations. However, I like Indianapolis, and in this space, that's all that matters.

But the above mentioned article astounded me and had me fervently hoping that it does not represent the attitude of young parents today. Outrageous Exhibit A:

"And no one can tell you how to decide if it's fair who goes out and who stays
home, and that even though your baby daddy is incredibly sweet you might not be
happy with him all the time."

Firstly, I loathe the term "baby daddy." It implies that the mother is not married to the father (and I don't know if the columnist is or not), which is troubling enough, but it is also demeaning and insulting to those of us who take fatherhood seriously by insinuating irresponsibility.

Secondly, I have a problem with her thinking that their social life should continue as it was before they became parents. She mentions that all her friends are bartenders and musicians; sometimes a life change like having a child necessitates a change in social habits, and yes, maybe even friends.

Becoming a parent is a monumental change and no amount of advice (written or oral) can fully prepare you for the challenges. Ms. Halverson seems to have recognized that part, but she doesn't seem to have grasped that one of the challenges is realizing that you are not your life's focus anymore. Someone rightly described parenting as a full time job, and it is one that is best shared by two people, a mother and a father.

Children are not just possessions or life milestones; they are a commitment in time, effort, and money. You cannot provide the care and guidance they need if you are trying to decide which one of you gets to go clubbing and which one gets to stay home. BOTH should stay home, or if you really want to take a break and go out, hire a baby sitter or enlist friends or family.

It comes down to priorities, and I hope that Ms. Halverson finds out where hers truly lie. But I wonder how far down we are going when more young people think of parenting they way she seems to.

Spare a Quarter.

You see them everywhere. Maybe you're like most people and you walk by trying not to catch their eye because you know the inevitable will come. "Hey, buddy, can you spare a quarter?"

They are called disgraceful, dirty, blight, a sign of the government's failure, a sign of society's ills. They are fathers, sons, mothers, daughters. many of them are veterans. Some never went to school, others may be PhDs. You can't tell because they all are marked by years of living on the street, depending on the good will of passers by who know nothing about the demons they are unwilling or unable to face.

I've heard how there are professional bums who make a better living by panhandling on street corners than they would at a full time job. Many people use this as an excuse to duck their head and keep walking. I used to do that.

But then I started working in a poor inner-city neighborhood. I remember the guy I worked with my first night on the job. He was a recovering drug addict who was not very reliable. After I had been there about six months, he finally lost his job because he couldn't make it into work. A year later I was surprised to read an article in the paper about street beggars which featured my former co-worker. I've also seen the guys in the neighborhood that get along by panhandling. I've seen them beg for a dollar and by a cheap bottle of wine; I've also seen them beg for a dollar to buy a pack of bologna.

I think of how blessed I am to have a good job, a good wife, a roof over my head, and a car to get around in. I know that even in the tough times when I have to use almost all of my paycheck to pay bills and I have $20 to live on for the week, I still have a place to stay and plenty of canned goods in the pantry. I trust God to provide what I need, and He is always faithful, whether I get through the week with no new bills coming in the mail, or someone in the grocery line having a quarter when I'm short for lunch. I realize now that there are others who have nothing but that faith, and God does not abandon them. I realize that I'm in a position to be his agent, because I have what I need, and can spare a dollar or two.

Now, when I walk down the street, I don't avert my eyes when I see some guy sitting on a brick holding a cup in his hands. I reach into my pocket and drop some change in. I don't know why he's there, or where he came from. I don't know what he's going to do with my money. I just know that I have it and he doesn't. I do know that he probably sits all day with people walking by as if he doesn't exist. Which is more valuable to him, do you think: a few coins, or simple recognition by a fellow human being? The answer, I think, is in the way they always respond.

"Thanks, brother. God bless you."

Long Live the Rock Ballad.

Check my profile and you'll see that I like all kinds of music. One particular type has a special place in my heart, however: the Rock Ballad.

I still can sit and listen for hours to songs such as Stairway to Heaven, Bohemian Rhapsody, November Rain, Every Rose Has its Thorn. These songs and others by some of the great hard rock groups and "hair-bands" strike a deep nostalgic chord within me. It makes no sense; most of these songs are about old girlfriends, one-night stands, and poisonous habits, things I have little experience with. There's nothing in them that I can personally relate to.

Yet I had many friends (in my younger days) who did have some experience with these things, and songs like these gave me some insight into feelings they had which they rarely shared openly. I could understand them and why they did what they did. Music like this kept me from rejecting some very good friends just because I disapproved of their behavior; instead I stayed with them, trying to offer guidance when I could, and setting a good example. But it never would have worked if we didn't also have common ground.

In all of these songs, the Narrator (for lack of a better term) is an outcast, a misfit, someone who is not successful and not popular. I think my friends and I identified with that most of all, since we were the band geeks, the gamer geeks, or just plain geeks. We were not 'in,' and our beauty was often apparent only to ourselves. The ballads of my youth helped us get through those days when we waited for a change, even if we didn't know what it was. Maybe the maturity level of everyone else had to catch up with our own; maybe we had to really grow up ourselves. We did; we moved on to college or the workforce, where everyone is equally idealistic and forgiving or equally miserable. I've grown older now, and I have a wonderful wife and family to be my emotional crutch.

But I still like the ballads, and easily fall for new ones, like Lips of an Angel. They inspire a nostalgia in me for a time that I don't necessarily want to return to, but nevertheless had its joys and its sorrows. They remind me that things don't really change; they remain anthems for lonely groups of kids waiting for something, even if they don't yet know what it is.

To Write, or not to Write.

That is the question that I am preoccupying myself with lately. I don't mean this blog; it will continue as long as you, dear reader, visit this site. I have had an idea in my head for the past couple of years about a story, and I'm trying to decide if I should attempt to write it down.

It started out as a concept for a Neverwinter Nights adventure module, and I've even written some notes about characters and plot, and started construction on the module. The project stalled, and has not been worked on since, but the story still flits around my head. It strikes me as a good story, and if you'll permit me, I'll share a brief synopsis with you.

It is a fantasy story, set in a world of my own design. this world is gradually becoming what I can only describe as 'real' -- that is, magic is ceasing to function, the pantheon of fantasy gods has been replaced by monotheism, and the fantastical monsters like goblins and trolls are no more. In this setting I trace the story of the final adventure of a knight, the leader of an ancient Order, respected by all in the kingdom. The knight is an orc, the last of a rare breed of good, honorable creatures. We find him in his middle years, preoccupied with memories of past adventures and consumed by current duties. The discovery of a remnant of his people sends him on a quest to explore the very nature of the world he lives in, and pits him against agents of the old gods at war with the new god. At the end, he is presented with a choice - to let the world continue as it is, or to restore the fantasy of old. In the game module, this choice is up to the player, so I will not reveal here the choice as I would make it, on the chance that I ever do finish the module.

But the story won't go away. As you know, I am a Christian, and I believe much could be said with this story. I am intimidated though, by the fact that I've never been good at fiction: my one example is a fan fiction story about Star Wars. I'm not a trained writer, though many of you have had kind things to say about my writing. Well, dear reader, I await your input. Should I, or should I not?

What Kind of Message?

I just read this article at National Review Online. Pay particular attention to this paragraph:

Browse on over to their web magazine for minors, www.teenwire.com, and you’ll find, among the
question-and-answer, a question from a teen who says she had an abortion “a
little over a month ago,” is pregnant again, and wondering if a second abortion
is safe. Not only does the teenwire.com staff cavalierly tell the girl (who, I
remind you, got pregnant again a month after her first abortion) that abortion
is “very safe” the first or second time around, but that abortion “is much safer
than giving birth.” While they do throw in a line about preventing pregnancy by
using birth control, there’s no talk about adoption or other alternatives — such
as raising the child, and getting help to do so — that a desperate girl could
afford to hear.

One thing that bothers me about the pro-choice movement is their reliance on promoting birth control. I'm not catholic, and I don't think there is anything wrong with a married couple using birth control to prevent pregnancy. What they ignore by pushing birth control to young people is the underlying cancer eating at our society; that is, the permissive attitude towards sex that pervades our culture. Notice that the councilors did not council the girl in the quote above to stop having sex, they simply mentioned birth control and wrongly informed her that abortion is safer than giving birth. What tripe!

If an organization truly wants to advance the cause of protecting women, then they should encourage women not to cavalierly offer themselves to any man that asks. I'm a man, and I know men; many of them would be too happy to take what's offered without any deeper concern. I believe sex is a gift that God has given us, not only for procreation, but to help us strengthen our relationship with our spouse. Such a gift should not be lightly shared with anyone in a casual setting.

As a final note, don't think that because I'm a man I can't understand what women go through when they find themselves unexpectedly pregnant. My wife and I made the mistake of beginning our sexual relationship before we were married, and found ourselves in that very situation. We were not nearly as strong in our faith then as we are now, and I can tell you that we seriously considered getting her an abortion. However, we both had Christian friends that gave us advice without condemnation. I was surprised at first when Alicia called me and said she was keeping the baby, but now I realize that by considering abortion, we were really just trying to dodge the responsibility for what we had done wrong. Thank God we came to our senses.

Under the Influence.

Ok! Magazine recently published it's list of influential people in the entertainment industry. Predictably, it included such stellar examples as Katie Holmes and Rosie O'Donnell. They also included Anna Nicole's baby Dannielynn under the heading of 'Survivor.' I don't read Ok! or any of those publications, but I was a little taken aback that they thought a little baby embroiled in a custody and paternity battle could influence anything. Also, I certainly wouldn't want any of my family to be influenced by the likes of Rosie O'Donnell and Katie Holmes. So, I decided to make my own list of influential people; at least, they've been an influence to me.

1. God, for creating me.
2. My wife Alicia, for sharing life and all that she is.
3, 4, 5. My kids, for the joy that they bring.
6. My mother, for her strength.
7. My dad, for staying sober for twenty years now.
8, 9, 10, 11. My grandparents (all four), for taking care of me, sharing their faith, and teaching me to fish.
12. My uncle, for teaching me how to play sports.
13. Tony Dungy, for teaching us all the right way to win.
14. Sarah Fisher, for refusing to be anything but herself.
15. The doctors and nurses at Riley Children's Hospital, for rebuilding my face.
16. Kenny G, for his melodies.
17. Alan Jackson, for his words.
18. Ronald Reagan, for his leadership.
19. Michelle Malkin, for blogging.

Last but certainly not least...

20. Jesus, for saving me.

Put Your Best Foot Forward.

Some of you may have noticed the small media flap regarding Alex Rodriguez's wife and the vulgar tank top. Mrs. Rodriguez showed up at the ballpark in a tank top on which the words "**** You" (you know what it said) were emblazoned, prompting a patron and his son to get up and leave, and causing a small media firestorm.

While at work on the 4th, one of my customers was wearing a shirt displaying the same sentiment. Numerous other similar stories abound, and I see people wearing clothes like this, or with some other vulgarity, all the time.

Forgive me for whining, by why? I've never been a firm believer in the mantra that clothes make the man, but what we wear says a lot about who we are, and first impressions are often formed by our appearance. I'm sure t-shirts with naughty phrases and raunchy pictures are funny to some people (I thought so too when I was younger), but most people don't seem to realize that that is the first part of your description that sticks in some one's head. If you want to be appreciated for your character, then let it show in how you display yourself.

The Magic Tree.

A few posts ago, I mentioned the 'Magic Tree.' This is the story, such as it is, behind the magic tree.

My wife and I met at college. Like most universities, our school had a large open space in the middle of campus. Actually, it was inside the large circular drive at the front of the administration building, but it served as a sort of 'central quad' for us. There was a university sign out by the street, and a walk crossed the field near the street, running parallel. There were a few bushes near the sign and along the walk by the flag pole, but otherwise it was a large grassy space, perfect for stretching out on a blanket and pretending to study on those rare fall Indiana days when the rain stops and the warm breezes return. But there was one tree.

It seemed almost like an afterthought, really. It was a large deciduous, of a type I don't remember. Probably maple or some other kind that is common in the Hoosier state. It wasn't in the center of the circle, but set at one of the corners, not where it figured prominently in any official university photos. It did not grow like other trees. Near the bottom of the trunk, right at the ground, a large limb branched off and ran parallel to the ground. It was nearly large enough to be a second trunk, only horizontal, and perfect for sitting on and thinking.

Alicia and I used to sit there, not long after we started dating, and dream of all the possibilities that lay before us. She it was who dubbed it the Magic Tree. Many plans we laid there, and many visions and dreams we shared. I'm not sure if there was much real magic in the tree, as nothing we ever dreamed there came true in the way we pictured it, but it was one of the places I associate with the deepening of our love. I suppose, for me, that's magic enough.

A Brief Moment In Time.

It's strange how God can send someone into your life for a short time, yet they set in motion something that changes your life forever. I was cleaning out the yard barn today, and I came across some pictures from the first real date my wife and I had. It was a picture of our group that went to the winter formal of our freshman year of college. It was an important event in my life, and it would never have happened were it not for Deb.

Deb was a mutual friend of Alicia and I. She invited me to a birthday party in her dorm room, and I tried to beg off, as I was fighting the flu at the time. Deb was persistent, though, and she and her roomate prevailed upon me to come over, which I did. That was where I met Alicia. I felt the spark right away, but I was pretty shy at the time, and might not have pursued the attraction. A few days later, Deb mentioned the Winter Whispers dance to me, and asked if I planned to go; I said no, I wasn't into that sort of thing. She said that Alicia was going to go with another friend, but was really interested in me. Besides, she said, I could go stag and watch all the silly people, since that's what Deb was going to do herself.

As I said, Deb was persistent, and I ended up going. I'm glad now that I did, even though I still don't care for dances. Alicia and I spent most of the night dancing and talking, and her date sat smiling at the table with Deb. I have no doubt now that they planned the whole thing. After the dance Alicia and I shared our first kiss, and the rest, as they say, is history.

We had not seen Deb since we graduated, and we learned a few years ago that she had passed away. She was a Christian, and we'll see her again someday when we all go home to the Lord, but I'll never forget what she did for me during the brief time she spent in my life. Thanks, Deb.

A Need for Speed

I recently told my wife during a blue funk that I felt like I was going through a mid-life crisis. I had been down about a lot of different things, and I was beginning to see visions of red sports cars dancing in my head. But alas, where the spirit is willing, the wallet is weak; the only red sports car I'll likely ever enjoy is 1/25 scale and sits on my hobby bench awaiting construction.

But it was my wife's response that struck me, and got me thinking about what was really bothering me. As I worked through those issues (and I need not burden you with them), I came to realize what the fabled fantasy car really is: it is a mirage designed to distract us from what we have achieved and gained in our lives. Often we focus on the fantasy and ignore the reality, and while some of us with the means may make the fantasy a reality, it still remains just that: a fantasy. We can drive our shiny car to our hearts content, and amass a wealth of speeding tickets in a vain attempt to feel young, but our families are the ones who suffer.

In the end, the funk ended, and I found the best way to recapture youth. I opened up to my wife, and told her anew why I had fallen in love with her in the first place. Now, after eleven years, the honeymoon is still going strong.