Most married couples celebrate their anniversary once a year. Mel and I apparently decided that was a little too restrictive. Why settle for one day when you could celebrate twice a day, every day, for thirty-two years? It sounds a little excessive when you put it that way, but then again, nobody ever accused us of doing everything the conventional way.
Mel and I were married on October 10th, or 10/10. Somewhere along the way, we started recognizing that date whenever it appeared on a clock. If one of us happened to notice it was 10:10, we’d turn to the other and say, “Happy anniversary!” It didn’t matter whether we were doing something important, watching television, or just going about our day. For that brief moment, the clock was reminding us of something that belonged to the two of us.
I couldn’t tell you exactly when we started doing it. That’s the funny thing about rituals. Sometimes nobody sits down and decides to create one. Something happens once, then again, and before you know it, you’ve been doing it for years. Eventually, it becomes so much a part of your life that you don’t even question it anymore. You just look at the clock, see 10:10, and know exactly what to say.
And it wasn’t limited to being in the same room. If Mel and I were apart when 10:10 rolled around, we’d still acknowledge it to ourselves. I always liked that. We didn’t need the other person standing there to participate. The significance was already there. For a few seconds, wherever we happened to be, we were sharing the same little celebration, even if neither of us knew the other had noticed.
Sometimes, we’d both sit waiting at 10:09 for it to change, and the first one to say it got a smile from the other. It wasn’t a race or challenge, but it was fun either way.
Eventually, our boys got in on it, too. That’s when you know a family tradition has really taken hold. Something that started as a silly little exchange between their parents became something they recognized and participated in themselves. I’m not sure how many families have children who associate a particular time on the clock with their parents’ wedding anniversary, but ours did. And I rather like that.
What I appreciate about this tradition is how uncomplicated it was. We didn’t need reservations at a fancy restaurant, flowers, presents, or some elaborate demonstration of affection. We just needed a clock and the ability to recognize four numbers. Granted, remembering to look at the clock at precisely the right moment was probably the most challenging part, but there was no committee organizing the festivities and nobody had to remember to buy a card. For someone like me, that was a pretty damn good arrangement.
Mel had a way of making ordinary things memorable. I’ve been thinking about that quite a bit as I’ve started writing more about her, and it seems to keep showing up in the stories. Whether it was finding a ridiculous way to ask for a mocha or turning an otherwise unremarkable moment into something funny, she helped give our everyday life its own personality. The 10:10 ritual was another piece of that. It was simple, a little goofy, and entirely ours.
Of course, thirty-two years of marriage were made up of a hell of a lot more than anniversaries. There were responsibilities, frustrations, disagreements, two boys to raise, and all the other things that come with sharing a life. We weren’t floating around in a perpetual state of romantic bliss, and anybody who’s been married for more than about fifteen minutes knows that’s not how it works anyway. But tucked into all those ordinary days was this tiny reminder of something we’d chosen together.
I’ve come to realize that some of the most lasting traditions aren’t the ones that require the most effort. They’re the little things that get repeated often enough to become part of who you are. You might not even recognize their importance while they’re happening. They’re just things you do, until one day you realize they’ve been quietly holding a whole collection of memories together.
I still associate 10:10 with Mel, and I suspect I always will. It’s hard to spend thirty-two years recognizing the same four numbers without having them permanently burned into your brain. And I wouldn’t want to change that.
Most people look at 10:10 and see the time. I see our anniversary.
Happy anniversary, Mel.