One hears so much about the calamities of growing old that at sixty I began to make a list of the things that I like about my advancing years. My younger friends suggested that I was merely playing Pollyana. My old friends gently pointed out that my list might grow shorter as my life grows longer. Still, I made my list.
At the head of my list was this remarkable discovery: I was beginning to find the foibles of my friends and relatives endearing.
I could understand how, after observing the real tragedies of life for two-thirds of a century, one would become more tolerant of minor irritations. In a world filled with the suffering of the hungry and the homeless and the victims of violence, the cap left off the toothpaste tube does not loom very large.
But my fondness for these foibles came as a surprise to me. I suppose I finally have come to understand that when one loves, one loves the whole person, a person defined by foibles as well as strengths. Of course, there is still the flash of irritation, but these days when we say, “Isn’t that just like him,” more often than not, we say it with affection, with the same pleasure of recognition as when the letter in the mailbox is addressed in familiar handwriting.
Perhaps every long marriage follows these five stages:
Darling, you are perfect.
Good grief! You seem to have a few foibles.
Let me help you get rid of your foibles so you will indeed be perfect.
Okay, I love you in spite of your foibles.
I can’t believe this has happened. I sometimes love you because of your foibles.
I recently made the wonderful discovery that “foible” originally meant the weak part of a sword, from he center to the tip, while “forte” referred to the sword’s stronger part. That says something to me about accepting our weaknesses while holding on to our strengths. Who would want to go out to meet a dragon with only half a sword?
I recently made the wonderful discovery that “foible” originally meant the weak part of a sword, from he center to the tip, while “forte” referred to the sword’s stronger part. That says something to me about accepting our weaknesses while holding on to our strengths. Who would want to go out to meet a dragon with only half a sword?