I first saw her in Spanish 3 in my junior year of high school. It was love at first sight. Custom dictated that it be love from afar, an unrequited love. Why? Her name was Margaret Donohue and mine is Marvin Goldstein. I had never gone out with a non-Jewish girl and my parents would kill me if I did. I had an uncle who'd married a Protestant in 1940 and the whole family was still talking about it. It was a "shunde" an embarrassment and shameful. This was 1962, but little had changed.
The teacher made a seating chart and I sat in the last seat in row two. Margaret, or Maggie, sat in the last seat in row one. It turned out that neither of us was as interested in Spanish as in joking and laughing. Often the teacher would raise her voice and point to the back of the room. "Marv and Maggie, pay attention." Marv and Maggie became a pair. When I got my driver's license, the first thing I did was borrow the car and go to Maggie's house. Her parents were both at work so we took a walk. Later we sat in her backyard, enjoying a beautiful day of Indian summer and she kissed me. I was excited by her brazen behavior, but quickly adjusted and kissed her back.
We began to date secretly. I would tell my parents I was going out with the guys and she'd tell hers she was going out with the girls. One night, bringing her home, her mother caught us. "Why are you sneaking around?" she asked her daughter sharply. "Isn't this young man good enough for me to meet? Or aren't I good enough?" The three of us went into the house and Mrs. Donohue explained she had no problem with Maggie dating me, after all we were just sixteen. It wasn't like we were going to get married some day. She did, however, object to the sneaking. The bottom line: Maggie and I could date as long as my parents knew about it.
The next night I told them about Maggie. Not unexpectedly, they were appalled and outraged. A Catholic! After what Christians had done to our people! Where did we go wrong? they asked each other. My father laid down the law: no Irish Catholic sluts for me. He took my car keys and went to his room in a rage, returning after a few moments to punch me in the face. My mother reminded me that he'd had a heart attack two years earlier and I must never mention the Catholic again.
I continued to date Maggie, double dating, going places after school, she using her parents' car. I had followed Mrs. Donohue's orders. My parents knew. They knew I was betraying my faith, my people, my family. I was single-handedly destroying Judaism. They more they ranted, the more enamored of Maggie I became. We loved to walk in the rain and hold hands. We loved to sing to each other. We liked to go for long drives talking about the meaning of life. One night in our senior year, I brought Maggie home unannounced. My parents were watching "Ben Casey." "Hi, Mom. Hi Dad. This is Maggie." My father made a choking sound and left the room. My mother remained, nodded to Maggie, and continued to watch "Ben Casey," though I suspect she really couldn't concentrate. We left after seven or eight minutes. After that, life at home became unbearable. I spent more and more time with Maggie. I wanted to marry her when graduation was over. Maggie, however, wanted to be a nurse, a three-year process. She went into training and I started college. Both of us continued to live at home. We began to have sex at her house or mine when our parents were working.
One day Maggie told me she was pregnant. I was scared, but proud. We went to another state where a couple could be married without a blood test or waiting period. They also didn't check ages very closely. Maggie and I were both 19, but we passed for 21 with no problem. Our next hurdle was to tell our parents. That I was not looking forward to! It turned out that I didn't have to tell them right away. Three days after we were married, Maggie got her period. She hadn't been pregnant after all. It didn't matter to me because I loved Maggie and I wanted her to be my wife. We decided to keep our marriage a secret for another year, until she had finished nursing school. I dropped out of college, got a job and started saving money. We wanted our own place when announced our marriage. Our parents would probably kick us out anyway.
One evening when Maggie and I were making love in my bed, my parents came home. My mother came up the stairs calling, "Marv, what are you doing home already? I thought. . . ." She opened my bedroom door and there we were. Naked and in bed. My mother's shoulders sagged. "Get dressed and come downstairs," she ordered weakly. By the time we came down, my father had been told and both sat glaring at us. "How could you do this in your mother's house?" my father asked with venom dripping from his tongue. My mother held his arm, I guess so he wouldn't hit me. "It's not what it looks like," I began. "Oh, it's not?" Mom said sarcastically. "Mom," I explained, "Maggie and I are married. We've been married for five months."
"When is the baby coming?" my father asked, cold fury on his face and in his voice. "She's not pregnant," I said defensively. "We're in love."
"Love," my father retorted in a loud voice. "What do you know about love? You just want to get into her pants. And you, young lady, there are names for girls like you." Maggie bristled and fought back tears. "Yes," she said, "Mrs. Goldstein." My father was taken aback and was silent for a few seconds. Then he began to laugh. My mother looked at him with astonishment. She began to speak. "When my brother married a Methodist," she began, "my parents sat Shiva for him. They tore their clothes and went into morning for their dead son. Three weeks later they changed their minds and invited him and his wife to dinner, hugging her and welcoming her to the family. But she never forgave them for first rejecting her. I am not going to make the same mistake." She held her arms open and beckoned to Maggie. "Welcome to the family, Maggie," she said. Maggie went across the room and allowed herself to be hugged. Eventually even my father called her "my beautiful daughter-in-law." What neither of them knew was that by that night it was already too late. Maggie never forgave them.
Maggie could not tell her parents she was married because she feared they wouldn't finish paying for her training, which had about six months to go. We did, however, tell them that we were engaged. By this time, her mother liked me a lot and her father had accepted the inevitable. A wedding was planned for a few weeks after Maggie became a registered nurse. My parents dictated that the wedding had to be Jewish with a rabbi, the canopy, the broken glass and all the other Jewish symbols. Maggie refused to convert, but she agreed to raise the children Jewish and happily gave up the Catholic Church. She considered herself an atheist and had since she'd been 12 or 13. She had kept up some practices for the sake of her parents, but even they had known her heart wasn't in it.
Our first child was born in Tennessee in 1968 and after I got out of the Navy and went back to college, we had a second. Life was tough with two babies, school and a part-time job. It was even tougher for Maggie, who worked the night shift, eleven to seven, so I could be with the kids. By day, she had the usual household chores and child rearing to do. She was always tired and I didn't feel the children got the attention they needed. Josh was adorable at three, with curly blond hair and insightful conversation. Rachel, at one, was my princess. When I came in at night, after work, it hurt me to see them dirty, playing in a dirty living room. It seemed to me that Maggie loved her cat more than the kids. I know that's ridiculous, but her offhand manner of mothering was so different from what I'd had growing up. "It's all I can do to keep up with the laundry," Maggie yelled when I complained. She wanted me to quit college and get a full-time job so we could have a normal life. I wanted to be something, for her, for the kids, but especially for me. I stayed in college and even went to graduate school, which infuriated Maggie. I majored in business and got an M.B.A. and upon graduation, I got a very good job with a well-respected brokerage. My starting salary was twice what she made as nurse. I thought she would be proud of me. Now she could stop working and be a full-time homemaker.
Soon we'd buy a house. Josh and Rachel were in school now: second grade and kindergarten. Maggie wanted to continue working. "What would I do here all day by myself?" she asked rhetorically. Clean the house, I thought, getting some milk from the refrigerator that had yet to be cleaned. Some of the spills in it were older than Rachel. The kitchen floor was sticky and the bathtub had a permanent ring around it. "Clean it yourself, if it bothers you," Maggie told me when I complained. "We all just take showers, so what's the point?" We bought a new house in a new neighborhood and fenced the yard for the kids. I worked hard and late and Maggie changed to the day shift. She left an hour before I did, so it was up to me to get Josh and Rachel ready for school. I enjoyed dressing them and eating breakfast with them. On Sundays, I took them to the synagogue for religious school and we spent all the Jewish holidays at my parents' house. They adored the children and showered them with love and gifts. They were also very generous with Maggie and me. They sent us on vacations and kept the kids, they bought us furniture when we bought our house. They had even chipped in for the down payment. All this generosity annoyed Maggie. She wanted to be independent. Although she kept her promise about the raising the children Jewish, it was obvious that her heart was not in it. Less and less did she accompany me to the synagogue. She found excuses not to go to my parents' house for Hanukkah or even her parents' house for Christmas. She didn't just not believe in God anymore. She was hostile to everything related to religion.
I loved Maggie and wanted to enjoy the fruits of our labor, but Maggie became more and more distant. Our sex life deteriorated and in 1988, when we were both 43 and Rachel graduated from high school, Maggie asked me to move to the guest room. I was so hurt, I moved without a word. I didn't tell anyone and I didn't complain to Maggie. In my mind I decided to give her one year. So I stayed in the guest room for one year, unless Josh and Rachel were home from college for brief periods. I didn't want them to know what was going on and at those times, Maggie and I slept stiffly on opposite sides of our king size bed. We didn't eat together. We talked only of the most mundane things: Did you pay the water bill? When is Rachel's tuition due? Is it time to change the oil in your car? Maggie showed little emotion during this time. When her beloved cat died, she took it stoically. I offered to get her another, but she refused. "Too much trouble," she said. I suppose now that Maggie was depressed, but I knew little about depression at the time. As a stock broker, I didn't even want to say the word!
At the end of a year, I asked Maggie if she wanted to be married to me. "I don't care," she responded. "Do you want a divorce?" I asked. "That would make your parents happy," she replied. "They've always hated me." I tried to explain to her that they didn't hate her. They were just scared about me losing my commitment to Judaism. She didn't buy it. She never had. We looked at each other across the kitchen table. What had happened to the giggling girl I'd stat next to in Spanish class? She was still beautiful and I still loved her, but she had no place in her heart for me. We decided to get a divorce right after Josh graduated from college in 1990, seven months away.
I spent much time reflecting on my love affair with Maggie and our marriage. We'd been married over 25 years and had two great kids. For most of that time I had loved her and been happy. What went wrong? I had asked Maggie repeatedly, but she just shook her head. "Mixed marriage," my mother said sadly. "It was bound to happen." I couldn't believe religion had anything to do with it after all this time, I told her. She just gave me a knowing look and shrugged. "What is it they say these days?" my mother went on. "You just had different values." "You worked too much and helped too little," a cousin told me. My best friend guessed Maggie was frigid. Ah, definitely not so, I thought, remembering the passion that had lasted for so long. "The kids grew up and you grew apart," my secretary offered. "Happens all the time." But I knew that we had begun to grow apart long before the kids grew up.
So, what happened? Maggie remarried two years ago after receiving a large settlement from me. Her new husband is Jewish, a retired CPA (although only 55, one year older than Maggie) and a self-made millionaire. Maggie tells the kids she's truly happy for the first time in her life. She says he appreciates her. I'm sure he does. She's still beautiful and looks 40 rather than 54.
And me? I dated a fair number of women after the divorce. I enjoyed it for a time, but then began to hunger for family life again. In 1993 I met a beautiful Jewish widow eight years younger than myself. We fell in love and got married. I adore Susan. We not only share the same values, but we enjoy the same pastimes. She's a great mother to her girls and also to Josh and Rachel when they're here.
Maggie and talk on the phone about Josh and Rachel, the wedding, their educations, Rachel's relationship with Alan, etc. Susan gets jealous when I talk to Maggie. I also do business with Maggie. She supplies the brokerage with fresh flower arrangements every Monday morning, and does all the flowers for special occasions, though now she is thinking of selling the business and doing some traveling with number two. On the whole, we have a pretty cordial relationship, though from time to time, Maggie strikes out at me. I'm always surprised. I still don't know what caused our love affair to burn out. I still don't know why she asked me to leave her bed. I loved her. I worked hard for my family. I was never unfaithful, didn't drink or abuse her. It's true I wasn't much good around the house. However, this is something that doesn't even phase Susan, so why would it have bothered Maggie so much? Was it religion, or lack thereof? I don't know. Is this a sad love story? I guess so.
Did I destroy Judaism? I ask myself now. If asked their religion, Josh and Rachel will say Jewish, but are they practicing Jews? No. Will their children be Jewish? I doubt it. Does this make me sad? Very. Should I have married Maggie? I wouldn't have Josh and Rachel if I hadn't. Did we negotiate our differences? you ask. I don't think we ever knew what our differences were. In an attempt to ignore the differences which were so important to our families, we overlooked all differences. We thought love was all that mattered. I suppose that makes this a pretty common "love" story.