Today is August 20th, and it is my and Deborah Petrides O’Neill’s anniversary. People often ask how long we’ve been together. Simple question, complex answer.
If you’ve recently met us, and know us only from Los Angeles, you may see we’re that couple that’s still holding hands after being married for over a decade. So we met here, right? No.
If you met us in Sarasota, Florida, you may recall us as that couple in separate classes, living together in a tiny apartment and driving the neighbors crazy with our constant, exhausting roommate fights:
Brendan: There’s, like, thirty empty water bottles by the sink.
Deb: Don’t touch them. I’m recycling them.
Brendan: Uh, okay. When are you going to do that?
Deb: As soon as I find out where the recycling center is.
And…
Deb: I got pulled over by the Sarasota Sheriff’s Department. They towed the car. Did you renew the registration?
Brendan: I’ve got about thirty dollars to my name.
Deb: Is that a new PlayStation?
Brendan: Isn’t it cool?
If you first met us then, you may have asked if we met there in Florida. No.
If you met us in Salem when we looked like this…
then you know our true origin story. We were 21 and 19 and had been in classes together from the beginning. We were friends, but didn’t get together until right before Deb graduated and went to grad school.
Only Deb graduated, you ask? Funny story— and this will show you how important my relationship is. (And how codependent I am 😁)…
Through some red tape error, I found out a couple weeks before graduation that I hadn’t earned enough free elective credits to graduate. My advisor apologized, but he hadn’t told me over the years that I couldn’t take free electives within my major. And that’s all I’d taken.
“So I took all those classes for nothing?” I asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t look at it that way. This is fixable. You just have to take one class this summer. Outside your major,” he said.
“I still get to walk with the graduating class, right?”
“I can check. It’s possible, but if you do, you won’t be getting a diploma. They’ll hand you a blank. Then they’ll mail you the diploma after you take the summer class. See? Easy fix, right?”
Easy fix, right. And screw you. I'm not not taking the class. I just won’t graduate.
Yes, I’m this self-destructive. My mother begged me, “You can’t walk away after years of work because of one class and your pride.”
Watch me. Oh, P.S., I was in the throes of my alcohol addiction. That’s kind of important, I suppose.
Deb goes off to the Asolo Conservatory for graduate school. After a tearful goodbye, I go on a three week drinking binge with my new subleasing roommate.
Here’s where I throw love to Ann H. Hall. Ann ran the office for the Salem State College theatre department. You’d see her when you came in to the office, always a smile, always super friendly.
One day, though, I came into the office and Ann’s behind her desk. She asks me, “Did I hear a rumor that you won't take summer classes?”
“Nope. I’m done. I’ve taken my last class.”
“Don’t you only need one class to graduate?”
“Yeah, but screw that. They should have told me when I was still in school.”
“So what are you going to do?” Ann asks.
“Hang around? Hit a couple bars? I don’t know,” I tell her.
“You and Deborah Petrides are dating now?”
“Yep.”
“She’s off to Florida State, getting her MFA,” Ann says.
“I know.”
“You guys will continue to date?” she asks.
“That’s the plan,” I say, proud of myself.
“You like her?”
“I do.”
“Like, it could turn into something serious?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I say.
Ann stops and puts her work down. Looks me dead in the eye.
“Okay,” she says. “I want to say something to you. Can I speak frankly to you?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Can I give it to you straight?” She doesn’t look so super friendly, and that famous smile isn’t there. And she doesn’t wait for an answer. “Deborah Petrides is one hell of a dynamic woman.”
“Right.”
Ann’s face goes stone cold. “Someone like that... isn’t waiting around for some dropout loser.”
…😕
“Stop fooling around and finish your fucking degree,” she says.
I enrolled in summer classes the next day.
Now, if you’ve known us for fifteen years or more, you remember us as one of those self-proclaimed Couples So Cool We Don’t Have to Get Married. You know the ones— Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell, Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Paul Sartre (okay, I looked up the last)
We always had a great time together and didn’t see why a piece of paper or ceremony would change that, so why bother? We were oh, so, happy.
And if you were one of the family or friends that pressured us into getting married? (They know who they are) then unbeknownst to you, all you did was shore up our defenses. The more we heard why we should get married, the more we were damned if we’d ever get married.
One Christmas Eve, Deb and I were at my family’s with all the aunts, uncles, and cousins. One aunt, let’s call her Sally— wait, I have an Aunt Sally. Let’s call her Barbara—no, wait, there’s a real Barbara… Let’s call her Aunt Mata Hari—
Deb and I were talking with my mother in the kitchen, and Aunt Mata Hari corners us, wineglass in hand, and says, “So what’s with you two?”
“What do you mean?”
“When are you getting married?”
My sweet mother tries to throw herself on the grenade. “They’ll do it when and if they’re ready.”
“Oh, please,” Mata Hari says. “Don’t kid yourself, Linda. He’s like George Clooney. Never. Getting. Married.”
This actually makes me boil a bit. I pull Deb into the bathroom. Lock the door.
“We’re good, right?” I ask her. “I’m not that dimwit who’s blind to his girlfriend waiting for him to propose?”
“Please,” she says. “I want to get married less than you do.”
Perfect.
Eight years later…
If you know me, and/or have been reading this blog, you know that my family walked through my brother’s murder. That involved countless, exhausting steps over the years and you’ll be able to eventually read about them all here.
I’ll tell you what I now understand, having gone through something like that— if I hadn’t looked for moments of connection, lightness, love, and gratitude, I wouldn’t be here today. The Big Adios. It would have been all too much.
Thankfully, I saw those moments. I looked for them. And many, many of them appeared in how my family became Deb’s family, and hers became mine. My parents, cousins, uncles and aunts (yes, Mata Hari, too) loved my girlfriend like she was one of their own.
Deb’s family, from Day One, welcomed me into theirs like I was the missing piece.
So one day, Deb and I discussed how we’d all been through hell and back. During tragic times, the families cooked and cleaned for one another, handed tissues, babysat, wore green ribbons in the courtroom, and stood together.
“Hey, you know what would be a good idea?” she or I said.
“What?” the other asked.
“What if we got everyone together for a celebration? Something good?”
“That would be incredible. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. A party? Like, what if we got married?” she or I said.
"Yeah. I guess we could do that."
And off we went…
Twelve years ago, August 20, 2006, we threw one hell of a party. It wasn’t really for us. It was for all of them— all of you. We wanted to bring joy in everyone’s life and wanted to see everyone laugh and drink and dance together. And that happened.
And you know what? Within six months, we talked…
Deb or I said, “So that whole ‘never getting married’ thing?”
“Yeah?” the other asked.
“We were… kind of idiotic.”
“SO idiotic,” the other said.
“We should have done this years ago.”
“Years and years…”
"We're morons."
"Yes, we are."
We were morons. We didn’t get married for the reasons other people did— we got married to bring the families some joy. In doing so, we discovered how much joy we were depriving ourselves by not marrying each other’s best friend.
Here’s the other thing I know in my bones: after walking through it all, I see we only have the moment in front of us. That means I need to celebrate and tell my loved ones how I feel now. I’m all too familiar with how quickly it goes.
That marriage certificate, that little piece of paper, and that ceremony, it mattered. It defined us. For us, it made things rock solid. It deepened the love, and the feeling that we’re a family and we have each other’s backs.
Happy anniversary to my lovely wife. It's been a quick 23 years.
We’re so grateful for all who have touched our unmarried lives, and then our married lives. May we be an example of love, acceptance, and kindness towards one another and to you. We want to affect you, and each other, positively.
And thanks, Ann, for giving it to me straight. Deb O’Neill didn’t have to wait around for some dropout loser. ❤️ 😉
