Column: About my husband, a quiet man who has found his voice

BY KAREN BEARDSLEE KWASNY

VIRGINIA BEACH — My husband, Tom, is a quiet man. He doesn’t abide small talk and won’t say much when around people he doesn’t know. Even family gatherings have him a bit tongue-tied. 

For a while during our marriage, Tom’s taciturn nature made for a lot of work on my part. I filled in the gaps when making new friends and became the family conversationalist. It was exhausting. 

Then, about eight years ago, something changed. My husband started talking. And thank goodness he hasn’t stopped because I’ve learned much about men – and life – as a result. 

I once thought my husband’s sudden talkativeness resulted from our involvement in local politics. I was appointed to the Planning Commission in 2015, and our house constantly buzzed with talk about development, city planning decisions and issues for the district. 

Tom had a lot to say for the first time in our married life. He knew the subjects, given his love of political television, interactions with the city and in his profession, and he eagerly participated in these discussions. However, the true motivation to engage was questions from our sons about how something in life or the world worked.

I’ve never seen a man more alive than when Tom explains to one of our boys how to fix an engine, change the oil in a vehicle, replace a broken window or keep a boat afloat. When our middle son still lived in the area, he would join his younger brother, Tom and me in the pool on Saturday evenings. Once the cannon balls were done for the night, the boys would question their dad about the universe. 

Reminiscent of a Saturday Night Live skit, we called these occasions “Saturday Engineering Lessons with Tom” because, almost invariably, the questions would involve something relating to engineering, Tom’s area of expertise. Over time, the questions branched into other life-related topics like jobs, girlfriends, homes and employers. When Tom launched into an explanation, the rest of us would roll our eyes and say, sometimes in unison and always with love and laughter, “Oh, no. We’ll be here all night.”   

For me, this remarkable change in my husband was like someone had flipped a switch, illuminating a truth about him I hadn’t known before. 

Like many men of his generation, my husband was accustomed to keeping his thoughts – and feelings – to himself. I knew this conditioning wasn’t necessarily good – for our boys by way of role modeling, for me as his wife or for him. 

I determined at the dinner table, in the car, when walking or bike riding, to draw my husband into what our youngest son calls “deep dives” whenever I could, no matter if the boys were around or not. Often, I had to make room in our talks for my husband’s slower conversational pace. I came to appreciate the phrase “pregnant pause” and value the opportunities such pauses afford to explore thoughts before continuing discussions. I began to see that Tom was not so different from other men in his life or mine. 

There was a time when men did not reveal much of their inner selves to others – whether spouses, coworkers or friends. These men had been taught not to talk about their hopes and dreams, weaknesses, faults, fears, joys and phobias. We still revere such stoicism as evidence of a true male nature. 

But I know better. It’s not my husband’s character to stay silent on what makes a ball bearing slip or how he feels about our soon-to-be empty nest. And I’m thankful for that discovery.  

As the years went by, our Saturday night pool group dwindled from four to three to just the two of us. But that hasn’t stopped Tom from talking. 

These days, he has an answer for everything from politics to postage stamps. Sometimes I want to rip out my hair because he has so much to say. But always, I am baffled and blessed that my quiet guy likes to talk and how much, even after twenty years, I can learn from him – about how air conditioners work, why I should vote for this gal or that guy and, most recently and probably most importantly, what makes wishing on a rainbow worthwhile. 

The author is a former Virginia Beach Planning Commissioner and college professor. Reach her at leejogger@gmail.com.

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