Romance Novel? Our 28-Year Marriage Is More Like a Novel Romance

"Dad, how did you propose to Mom?" asked my teen daughter.

A shiver gave me pause. I knew this question would eventually come from one of my two daughters, especially since so many TV shows and social media videos glorify over-the-top proposals and engagement rings.

With a mix of fear, pride and shame, I answered: "I didn't propose, and there was no engagement ring."

I can explain.

My wife, Michele, and I have been happily together for 34 years — married for 28. We met in college in French class (how's that for romance) and after graduating moved to Chicago together to pursue advanced degrees — she in medicine, me in American literature.

Busy with school and fiercely progressive, we were in love in our little apartment and did not feel the need to get married the way our parents did. We were even content to have a "common law marriage" if that was how things evolved.

Near the end of our first year in Chicago, however, we faced a larger problem than whether to ever get married: we were almost out of money. We had underestimated the cost of living, and while we had enough scholarship funds and student loans to make it through our first school year, we did not factor in the three summer months. Hence, our first summer in Chicago became a medley of very odd jobs.

To demonstrate our desperation, consider this: Michele allowed me to cut her naturally curly hair to save money even though I have no hair-cutting skills whatsoever. Shockingly, she had me put a piece of masking tape on the back and front of her hair, and then told me to cut along the line.

I was reluctant to obey but managed to make the back look acceptable. I was a little overzealous, however, when cutting the front. The result? What we could only call "baby bangs," and they were not adorable like a real baby.

To make some money, Michele and I brainstormed what talents we had to offer and started asking our colleagues for contacts. We would babysit, dogsit, housesit or clean houses, and then we would buy groceries. Another odd job we offered was small painting projects, and we even created the corny title "The Paint Doctors" for our graduate student "business." Soon we dropped the painting gigs since our estimates were way too low and we had no actual painting knowledge beyond how to hold a brush.

During that summer, Michele and I were miserable and often cleaning toilets, but we were also cementing our relationship in unexpected ways. Plus, the odd jobs spared us the horror of asking our non-wealthy parents for money. Granted, as grad students with bright financial futures, we were never truly "broke." But our skills at delayed gratification were being challenged vigorously.

For our second year of graduate school, Michele and I made sure we took out more student loans. But we still did not think much about getting married. In our minds, we were already married. We shared everything, including our debts, so who needed society's endorsement of our relationship?

Well, gradually, we did. It was getting awkward (especially for Michele) to keep introducing each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. Plus, we continued to face pressure from our parents and some friends. Consequently, in a very unromantic way (by conventional standards), one day we scoured our schedules for a mutually free weekend to travel home and have a small ceremony.

There was no engagement ring, but to my defense a year earlier I had used my credit card to put a small down payment on the tiniest, least expensive Ford for Michele to drive while I rode the trains. (Too bad you can't wear a Ford Festiva on your finger.)

After picking a date, we hired a non-denominational minister and booked a modest venue for a champagne brunch wedding. We also wrote the ceremony, designed inexpensive matching bands, booked a string quartet and ordered a decadent chocolate cake. These were our redefinitions of romance, you might say.  

It was understood that we would pay for these redefinitions ourselves, and we did not share the plans with our parents until late in the process. One of my first encounters back in college with my future, very traditional, father-in-law featured him hollering at Michele and her younger sister: "If you don't get married in a church, I'm not paying for the wedding!" Fortunately, the sisters' eye rolls comforted me.

Amazingly, Michele and her mother did not fight much before the wedding, in part because Michele nodded to tradition by wearing her mother's wedding dress. She did lose her cool, however, when her mother hinted that some relatives might not like our ceremony. Michele proclaimed: "Everybody better just slap on a happy face that day, 'cause I'm sick of this!"

Speaking of happy faces, Michele and I have been together for over three decades now. We have learned to value the marriage over the wedding, the relationship over the proposal — or lack thereof. As a husband, do I have tinges of shame that I did not have enough money back then to buy an engagement ring over the objections of my progressive girlfriend? Perhaps, though I take pride in the many ways we have redefined conventional marriage and romance along the way. Our story may not read like a romance novel, but it does constitute a novel romance.

Granted, the romance attached to conventional marriage proposals may never abate, and that is okay. But it should also be okay if two people merge their lives in less culturally pressured ways. As my not-yet-married daughters become adults, I realize I may have to practice what I'm preaching, and I am ready. As long as the relationship is healthy, the trappings can be variable.

At this point, you may be wondering how my daughter replied to my extended, romance-redefining explanation of why I did not propose to her mother.

In another swing of the generational pendulum, she stated: "No offense Dad, but I don't want that."

Vincent O'Keefe is a writer and former stay-at-home father with a Ph.D. in American literature. His writing has appeared at The New York Times, The Washington Post, Time, Parents, Insider, and City Dads, among other venues. Visit him at VincentOKeefe.com or on Twitter @VincentAOKeefe or Facebook at Vincent O’Keefe. Read More