By JENNY STATHIS
The hype surrounding Darva Conger and the whole marrying the multi-millionaire scandal is waning almost as quickly as it arose. But amid the fading limelight, I am glad that since I was young, my mother taught me the lesson Darva learned the hard way — don’t marry for money.
My parents just celebrated their 30th anniversary, and I’ll admit, it hasn’t been complete paradise for them. But it is a relationship that has been tested and tried — and one that has ultimately proved itself through their love, despite the trials us kids cause.
Better than any millionaire is my dad.
Ever since I was little, he’s been there to appease me. My sister and I were invited to a little boy’s birthday party, but the roads were horribly icy because it had been snowing for days. Sensing our disappointment, my dad dug out the old sled, cleaned it off, and pulled us almost a mile to the party. Looking back now, I recognize the sacrifice my father made. To haul two chubby little girls through a mile of snow, sleet and ice, up and down hills, was probably not physically appealing. But he did it because he knew it would make us happy to attend the birthday party. And he did what he could since the roads weren’t conditioned to drive on. I also remember at the party being disappointed because there was no birthday cake. We got bran muffins of all things! What is that? I did not like this party. So Dad pulled us all the way home.
Birthday parties aren’t all my dad has taken part in. He thinks our family has this tradition of going bowling on Thanksgiving, even though we’ve only done it once or twice. But we do have traditions that actually happen on a regular basis. Every Christmas, my family gets together with another family and we act out the Christmas story. It’s so much fun because there are so many strong personalities and everyone is just so funny.
Last Christmas, it wasn’t really the same, though, because we’re all getting older and we don’t fight over being Mary and Joseph any more. Plus, a lot of the kids have kids of their own now, so the excitement just isn’t to the same degree as it used to be. But in a few years, when all their kids are at an age where they understand the purpose and reasoning behind acting out Christ’s birth, we can just rename it “The Pageant: The Next Generation.”
When I got to college, I tried to be like my dad by playing intramural basketball (besides the fact that my roommate forced me to play). First of all, I hate super-competitive sports, and second, I really don’t know how to play basketball, even though my dad and brothers live for the game.
My boyfriend of all people is the coach of our pathetic team, so of course, he starts me.
The entire four minutes, or however long I’m out on the court, not one person ever passes me the ball! I’m like, “Hello, I’m open!” But nobody pays attention. Girls are ball hogs. I feel like I’m just running around in circles. Finally, since I’m apparently not part of the game, I just start waving and making faces at my friends in the crowd.
“You’re no help. You’re off the team!” My roommate was only half joking.
I didn’t want to play ball in the first place, but Dad was proud of me for not passing out on the court.
Telling me it is probably because I’m not driving as much when I told him that I think my car’s getting better gas mileage, and convincing me that the Utah State Prison is “really just high school with really tight security” aren’t the only reasons I love my dad.
My dad has survived 30 years of putting up with his active children, who he claims “drove him to drink Diet Coke.” “Can’t I be addicted to anything?” he always says.
Hallelujah, the Fox TV couple are annulling their psuedo-marriage before any kids got involved. If my mom had married some mega-bucks guy without a personality, do you think he would have put up with such trials as us kids?
“Instead,” my mom told me, “marry your best friend.”
I’m so happy she did.
Jenny Stathis is a senior from Annandale, Va., majoring in print journalism.
