Posted on Mar 30, 2021 in
On the Porch with Patti
Twenty-seven years with the old ball and chain.
By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
Commitment is a word – a way of life – that I grew up with. And today, I am nothing if not committed. I will wear that outfit that’s a tad too tight and perhaps in a too bright a shade of red, but once I get it on and accessorize with leopard print, I’m committed. It’s happening.
I learned much about commitment from my Mawmaw and Pawpaw. They were married for over 54 years, and I’m not entirely convinced they actually liked one another. I’m sure they once did as Pawpaw was 10 years older than Mawmaw, so clearly, he scored. And sure, they raised three girls and more grandchildren than I can remember, and they were stuck to each other like glue. It didn’t matter that the majority of their conversations began with Pawpaw saying, “By God Maggie…..” You can fill in the blanks. Or the ever-popular, “You know I can’t eat that….” Pawpaw was in his seventies and had lost most of his teeth by the time I came along, so that struggle was real. But when push came to shove, and it came a lot in their lifetimes of living through the Great Depression, raising teenagers in the 1950s and multiple wars, it was always Mr. Walter and Mrs. Maggie.
Commitment is defined as “the state or quality of being dedicated to a cause, activity, etc.” As I pen these words on the eve of my 27th wedding anniversary to Tim Kaminski, committed – in multiple forms and incantations – is the word on my mind. Commitment is also defined as “an engagement or obligation that restricts freedom of action.” While I tend to relate more to that definition, I honestly can’t recall Mr. Kaminski restricting my freedom of action too much over the past 27 years. Wait, he just interrupted me from my freedom – while I was writing in my proverbial writing space on the porch – and asked me to fetch him a screwdriver. I replied, “Of course, let me make you one,” and acted like I was going to make him a drink. Not the screwdriver he was asking for, so he went about his business and left me alone. See how that works?
The philosophy of commitment has touched virtually every part of my life as an adult. If I agree to a task for a charity, I remain committed until said task is complete. Same with my work ethic and my children, even though at times I question whether I should actually be committed after my grown babies have just worn me out. As young adults, they are truly forces to be reckoned with. I have no idea where they got that – likely their grandmothers.
Mr. Kaminski likens my philosophy of commitment to something altogether different. He believes that I stick to my guns – which could absolutely be defined as committed – to get what I want by wearing everyone else down. My response to that unjust assessment? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Yes, I am a patient and deliberate woman.
Guess that’s what this year’s theme for our anniversary will be – if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Happy Anniversary Mr. Kaminski. Yep, I’m still here more committed than ever – no foolin’ – even though it is April 1st.
See y’all next week – on the porch!
