You remember the famous line from "Forrest Gump"? "I may not be a smart man, but I know what love is."
The other day, it suddenly hit me. I'm the anti-Forrest Gump. I am a smart man (or at least I test well) but I don't think I know what love is at all. There is nothing I find as confusing. Programming my VCR is child's play by comparison.
Recently, I was thinking of a former girlfriend, so I called her up. We had a great conversation, and after I got off the phone, I was really wondering, "Now why did we break up again?" And then I remembered. "Ohhhhhhhhh -- yeah, that was a good reason."
But it really got me to thinking, what is love anyway?
I bet you thought I was going to answer that question, didn't you? Well, I can't. That's the point. I don't know. I'm 37 and single. I'm a relationship moron. I'm romantically impaired. I don't know what I'm doing -- at all.
And it's not just me. No sirree Bob. We are an entire generation of the love impaired. It seems especially bad for folks in their 30s and 40s, and even worse if you're Jewish. I'm not quite sure why this is, but I have seen polls on the subject. In this epidemic of unmarried singles, it seems Jews have caught the bug worse than other ethnic groups.
And it extends to the observant world, too. Sure, plenty of them are married at 22 and have 18 kids by the time they're 30, but there are also others who are having the same problems their secular brethren are having. This epidemic goes across the entire religious spectrum. Believe me, it's not just your mom, who's noticed. The rabbis have, too.
I went to a singles event a few weeks ago at a synagogue that illustrated this problem really well. The rabbi was asking why young people (and not-so-young people) were having such a problem getting married. He was really mystified. It seemed pretty simple to him:
You meet a girl you like and you marry her. One guy stood up and gave such a perfect answer, it seared into my memory, perhaps permanently: "Well, I meet a girl and like her and she doesn't like me. Or a girl likes me and I don't like her. Or we go out and it doesn't work."
It's almost poetry, isn't it? Well maybe not, but it does seem to sum up the state of things pretty well.
I wonder if we could get this problem classified as a real disability. Maybe it's like a learning disability. After all, learning to love someone besides yourself is something that people are supposed to learn in adulthood. You can check. It's in developmental psychology. I took a course.
If not being able to sit still and concentrate is called Attention Deficit Disorder, and not being able to read is called dyslexia, what would you call not being able to love? LDD: Love Deficit Disorder? No, that sounds like a shortage. How about the same initials but different words: Love Development Disorder. That might be it, except it probably sounds too similar to learning disabled. I don't know.
But, before we go looking for solutions to this problem, maybe it would be worthwhile to take a look at past generations. Why was it so easy for them anyway? Maybe it was because they had matchmakers and arranged marriages. It used to be that your parents would arrange a match for you and, unless you found your intended completely repulsive, you married them. Boom. Just like that.
This brings me to my grandparents. After fighting in World War I, my grandpa, Danny, stayed in Europe to try to get his family out of Russia. Not surprisingly, however, he couldn't even get in the country, because the Russian Revolution was going on full steam. Here's where it gets romantic: Poor Danny, stuck in Warsaw, met my grandma, Ina, and was struck by a thunderbolt. Times being the way they were, instead of having a tempestuous affair, they were quickly married and Danny brought her back to New York.
Now, this should be where they live happily ever after, right? Wrong. After a few months, Danny must have done something pretty bad, because according to family lore, Ina got ticked off, packed up and went back to Warsaw. So how is it that I'm telling this story? Because instead of welcoming her back home with open arms and soothing words, my great-grandmother wouldn't let her in.
"Go back to your husband. Stop behaving like a child. You're married now!" she yelled as she slammed the door in Ina's face (or so the family legend goes).
What does this tell us about love? I don't know. I'm the love moron, remember? But from both these stories, it seems the emphasis was much more on keeping the family together, than on being in love. That, and once you were married, that was it. At least, that's how it sounds.
But how does this help me, The Love Idiot? Should I call my mother, ask her to find a girl for me and marry her if she doesn't make me puke at the first meeting? You know, I'm actually starting to consider it.
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