Me and the Jewish Bartender
Twenty years ago, I did something that would have shocked my younger self: I married a Jewish bartender. It is a tale of long-awaited (and somewhat belated) true love.
In my early 30’s, I found myself one of the only single girls my age in an ocean of married, happy, pro-creating people. I was treading water, death-gripping a life preserver called Holding out Hope for True Love. But sometimes it felt as if it is slipping out of my hands. Twelve times the bridesmaid, but never the bride.
Then one June day, a Monday lunch changed everything.
Sauntering into Garrison’s Steak House, looking less nervous than I felt, I was there to meet a new (and adorable) acquaintance, Troy. We had chatted here and there, and I was thrilled when he finally called and invited me to a lunch date. We sat and unfolded our menus, and I stole a good look at that cute face and recognized--for the first time--a crooked smile. I found out later that a childhood scar from a dog attack caused this gorgeous incongruity. Ah, even his flaws were handsome.
We bantered about work, family, friendships, and life in the suburbs of Atlanta. My cheeks hurt from smiling. In the course of conversation, I discovered that this fellow Presbyterian is Jewish by origin. His eyes lit up as he began to share the details of his unexpected conversion.
He began, “So... I used to be a bartender.”
I must admit, this revelation was not what I expected from a conservative, un-tattooed, well-shaven young man. A self-described modern prodigal son, he asked his parents for his inheritance so that he could realize his dream of opening a restaurant, then watched it all drain away in less than a year. No more “Bar and Grill”, no more inheritance. But what was left behind, he admitted, was even better: a desperate need for a different life. I heard him say aloud things that I felt and believed. Before dessert was even ordered, I was smitten.
I did something very out of character (later in our relationship, he realized just how out of character this was), and I asked him to join me that night (yes, THAT night) for a baseball game.
“So, the second date in one day?” he wondered aloud.
“Yep. I have two free tickets. And killer seats.” I offered.
“Uh, let me think about it.” He looked unsure. “Hmm. Well.”
Panic gripped me for a moment. Had I read him wrong? Was he about to turn me down and end this amazing thing before it even geot started?
I mentally reviewed the facts, “I am adorable, if I do say so myself, and he IS into me. That smile says it all. Surely, surely, he likes me.”
With renewed courage, I unabashedly spelled it out for him, “Here is the situation. You have a cute girl who wants to spend more time with you...and free tickets to a sports event. Are you really going to say no to her?”
“Well, when you put it that way...” he chuckled, “You make a good point.”
Later, on our second-date-in-one-day, the game was rain-delayed for three hours, but we barely noticed. Providentially, those “killer seats” provided shelter from the steady downpour, so we were free to gaze into each other's eyes and share dreams and hopes and goals without distraction.
Truly, I had to stop myself from putting my head on his shoulder and whispering, “Where have you been all my life?”
That day—that plain Monday in June—changed, well, everything. Soon after a wedding will be planned. A home will be made. A daughter, in time, will be born. Three other children will be adopted into a loving home. And two people have a new best friend.
All because True Love found me and the Jewish Bartender.
