“How in the world am I supposed to find someone to marry in this day and age?”
I posed this question, rather loudly, to my mother. My mother, the woman who has been married for over thirty years. The woman who was not only married by my age, but parenting already.
It was late at night and two of my sisters and I were surrounding my poor mom, bombarding her with life’s biggest questions while my dad worked a night shift. She sat on her bed, as if she mistakenly planned on sleeping, and we sat all about in chairs and on the carpet as my rant continued: “What in the world were we thinking when we threw out all the customs of the previous generations? The systems may have seemed restrictive, but at least there was a framework!”
I bemoaned the fact that men don’t “call” on women, that we use coffee shops instead of parlors, that my parents don’t have time, energy or the frame of mind to vet callers, that it’s socially awkward to involve your family in your new relationship, that dating websites and apps are a poor substitute for being casually set up by a good friend, that church is where good people go to worship, the bar is where they go to hook up, and there seems to be nothing in between.
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