The only time I can ever remember my parents getting into a fight (not even a big fight, just a mild disagreement about something I don’t even remember anymore), my dad built my mom a bookshelf. Even when I was little I knew that this action was something special.
A couple years ago, my mom was looking at the bookshelf in the garage—which she uses to place her shoes on by the way—and asked my dad when they bought it. My dad blinked then told her he built it that one time she got mad at him. Mom laughed and said she didn’t remember. I didn’t want to tell them that I remembered. When I saw dad building that bookshelf when I was little, I knew that the mood in the house was very tense and gloomy; but seeing dad hammer the nails into the bookshelf and sanding down the wood, I realized that the driving force behind every hammer and scrape was love and a conviction to prove it. In an odd way, it was beautiful.
Anyways, I told this story to Russell when we first started dating. He said he would build me a bookshelf. And I don’t doubt it since he and his brothers helped their dad build their entire house in Reno. But it’s really not about the bookshelf. It’s about the boy and the love and the action. And because I love books. Who knows, maybe he’ll even build me a couple bookshelves so I could use one for shoes… ;)