5 minute read
Threshold of Goneness
The year was 1984. It was late in the fall and I was going down the driveway in my 1973 Ford pickup heading to north Missouri for a duck hunt. This was my fifth weekend in a row of being gone on a hunting trip and my excitement was building because the weather forecast was terrible, which would make duck hunting excellent. Standing on the back porch watching me disappear was Mrs. Urich. She was holding a young son in each hand. The third son was still in the oven half-baked and she was crying.
This was when my Little Voice popped up in the back of my head. We all have a Little Voice residing in our minds and whose primary responsibility is to save us from ourselves. My Little Voice was strongly encouraging me not to go on this duck hunt. Sadly, by this time in my life, I had turned ignoring the correct advice from my Little Voice into an art form. My Little Voice has repeatedly reminded me over the years, usually when gloating, that if I had just listened, we would have been frequent guests on the TV show Life Styles of the Rich and Famous. But I was focused on the duck hunt, so it was pedal to the metal.
Turned out to be a great waterfowl hunt. However, Mrs. Urich was not interested in hearing any details when I returned because things had changed. I was the recipient of a Level I lecture. It is a massive 3-day event that begins with 24 hours of the silent treatment. Then there are 24 hours of intense discussions, a review of past transgressions mostly unrelated to establish a pattern of unacceptable behavior, a recounting of her mother's premarital warnings about me, copious tears, and serious groveling on my part. What follows next is 24 hours of mop up, including a complete review of the agreed-to items and corrective actions.
This time there were three corrective actions. First, the Threshold of Goneness in terms of number, frequency and duration of my hunting and fishing trips was clearly defined. I argued long and hard that the trips I was required to take for work, which was bringing home the bacon, should not be included in the threshold. But Mrs. Urich countered forcefully with gone is gone; the reason is unimportant. Second, my trips would require Goneness Points which could be earned by picking up the pace on remodeling the old, ratty house in rural Moniteau County where we lived, helping with her massive gardening projects which always began with digging and the construction of her Class A equestrian center. Third, there would be atonement trips. Her thinking was if I got to travel all over hunting and fishing, then there should be trips more in tune with her interests.
The rules for the atonement trips were clear. She got to pick the destinations with the only constraint being they had to be located somewhere on the planet's surface. I had to make all the travel arrangements, a process greatly facilitated in recent years with the advent of the desktop computer, Internet, and Mr. Google. I was required to carry her luggage out to the car at the beginning of the trip and during the trip. Finally and most importantly, during the course of the trip I would be a fountain of smiles and positive comments.
Well, it didn't take me long to figure out that if I took our sons with me on my hunting and fishing trips that I could extend the Threshold of Goneness. My trips became minivacations for Mrs. Urich. She could wallow in the silence at home, collect her thoughts and take a brief respite from the trials and tribulations of motherhood. I was taking our sons on hunting trips before they could carry a shotgun. They could at least carry the rabbits, plus they all knew how to clean rabbits before they ever shot their first rabbit.
David (right) with sons Tim, Aaron and Kirk in 1994 after a rabbit hunt. Kirk was too young to carry a shotgun so he carried the rabbits instead. (Photo: Mrs. Urich) Our sons could bait a trotline as soon as they could walk, grab a live fish out of the tub, give it a big, sloppy kiss on the mouth for luck and hang it on a 2/0 hook. Then I realized I could make our sons help me with the home remodeling, the garden projects and construction of the equestrian center. They could then contribute to the Goneness Points bucket and learn the fine points of living peacefully with a nonhunting and fishing spouse. Besides, the skills they learned would be helpful later in their lives. This was excellent and appropriate parenting on my part. After some years, I was back to the pre-1984 hunting and fishing trip level and still married.
Some would say that I'm a giant slime ball, especially mothers. Here I said I would do better and promised to be a more attentive father and husband. Then I go sneaking back to my same old ways like husbands do all the time. But in my defense, two years after this excessive hunting incident, Mrs. Urich's house appeared in Country Living Magazine, a national publication featuring old restored homes with antique furniture and fantastic gardens. I made that happen with sweat equity while scratching out Goneness Points for my next trip. This was a top 5 major life event for Mrs. Urich right up there with the birth of her sons and marriage to me. However, I have occasionally slipped out of the top 5 over the years due to certain circumstances that were no fault of my own, of course.
After decades of atonement trips, I have to admit we've gone to some neat and exciting places that I know I would have never seen without prompting by Mrs. Urich. These trips were a little heavy to old castles, art museums, show gardens and Neolithic sites, but I endured. It certainly made me a better conversationalist at cocktail and dinner parties, although my silk imported from France fish tie is a powerful conversation starter by itself. I also realize now that if I had just listened to my Little Voice, there would have been no Threshold of Goneness and I wouldn't have spent the last 36 years figuring out how to get around it.
I'm pleased to report that I have improved, probably due to my age and growing maturity. The last Level 1 lecture I had was in the mid-1990s when I faked my own shooting in the backyard for Mrs. Urich's benefit. Incidentally, my Little Voice strongly recommended that I do not do that, and it was right. So I'm not a giant slime ball after all. Oh sure, I'm a little greasy around the edges but most husbands are. After almost 50 years of marriage, I understand fully that a successful long-term union requires considerable, often uncomfortable, and frequent compromise, mostly by Mrs. Urich in our case.
