Age differences between partners in dating and married couples are a remarkable subject of interest to some people. My mother was four years older than my father, and this was a source of needless embarrassment for her. Considered ideal in our culture, the husband should be older than his wife, preferably no more than four years, or at least the same age.
This concern about age makes absolute sense when one member of a couple, or both, are teenagers and still immature — a 15-year-old dating a 30-year-old raises yellow, red and black flags. Certainly this has been done, and perhaps successfully, but individuals grow and change considerably between ages 15 and, say, 21.
By contrast, the difference between a 20-year-old and 35-year-old is less extreme.
However, I’ve noted this honeymoon period lasts only until about age 70, when physical, cognitive and emotional differences once again become more exaggerated. This gap may or may not cause problems; hopefully by then, a couple has worked out the accommodations that are necessary in marriage, or learned to expect conflicting emotions and soldier on — or not.
I was aware that some people would comment either to me or to others about the fact that my husband was 18 years older than myself. At the time we married, I was 40 and he was 58, and to me at least, the difference between us seemed insignificant although I fully realized that he had already finished high school by the time I was born. We were both now firmly middle aged.
Unfortunately, I was never to find out the effect of our age difference into old age as he died unexpectedly at age 68. I was 50 and certainly considered his death as premature. To be sure, I had expected from the outset that the odds were that he would die before I did, but not necessarily so.
The conventional wisdom was that in marrying an older man I had “married my father,” but this wasn’t at all true. For one thing, my relationship with my father was troubled, and my husband was diametrically opposite in personality and attitudes. He had none of the conflicts that, from time to time, tormented my dad.
In truth, my husband’s personality resembled my mother to a much greater degree — easy going, full of humor, encouraging and a desire to have me feel special. If there is a need to typify our relationship, he was more of a coach towards me.
Forget conventional wisdom, there has never been anything conventional about me! If anything, I would tell the wags and sages, that what I did was to “marry my mother.”
