I will just be honest.
My husband Keith looks like a biker. He’s tattooed over a good bit of his body (with plans to get more) and he has a weathered face and piercing gray eyes. He’s also about 6’3″ tall. When he isn’t smiling, he looks kind of fierce. I had him change his glasses a while back because (as you can see from the featured picture) he bears a striking resemblance to the Walter White character from Breaking Bad (at least in MY opinion).
He listens to Heavy Metal … his favorite music is Progressive Rock.
Why am I telling you all of this? Because Keith is the poster boy for not judging a book by its cover.
He’s always finding himself in the goofiest situations and I could go on endlessly about some of the things he’s done .. like leaving out ant corpses as warnings to other ants when we had an infestation in a house we once rented … or how he keeps getting lost driving back roads but always manages to end up in Burnsville, Mississippi. (It’s weird, I know.)
However, one of my favorite things to tell as an example of who he really is, and of the contrast in the way he looks (and his curmudgeonly ways) and who he is inside, is a story about an exercise I had to do about four years ago when I was finishing my last year of college to earn my Bachelor’s in English. I was in a writing class and they wanted us to focus on a specific moment and write a short paper on it and use as many details as possible.
At the time I was writing the paper, Keith decided to do some housework to keep busy until I was finished and we could binge-watch something on Netflix.
It was tough. I was not getting any inspiration for my paper until I heard fairy bells moving down the hall ….
My husband is a plant whisperer. Whatever he decides to grow … it grows. He had a gorgeous philodendron in our bathroom that he would water once a week or so. Inside the plant’s pot, he had placed a steel spike that held a tiny Tinkerbell figure from which dangled teeny tiny steel chimes.
My husband had his earbuds in and was taking the plant down the hall to water it and let it drain outside. He would bring it back in later. I smiled as I watched this big, tattooed man walking down the hallway, gently carrying his philodendron, and every one of his steps was punctuated by these tinkling little fairy chimes.
I giggled as I wrote. I now had my inspiration for the paper. I got up a little while later because I could hear this … noise … I sneaked down the hall and entered the kitchen area to find Keith was still wearing his earbuds and listening to music. He was washing dishes and was singing a love song at the top of his lungs – hips twitching back and forth — as he performed his one-man concert.
Would you even guess he’s a poet? You wouldn’t guess it by looking at him, but he’s actually a really good poet. If you need proof, then check out his blog at: https://wolfcloudpoet.wordpress.com/ .
Don’t get me wrong … he can be just as cantankerous as he appears sometimes … I even wrote a couple of poems about the contrasts that make up the man I love. But, he has a loving and gentle heart. Don’t always judge a book by its cover – you might miss some great stuff inside.
I will close with two of the poems that he inspired:
By L.A. Story
The ink on your
Skin is the graffiti
On the wall
Of your soul.
Images that reveal
Your deepest heart.
Grey eyes peer sharply
From a weathered face
Never revealing the
Tender heart beating
In quiet solitude within.
By L.A. Story
I watched him
Snap the radio off
With a decisive twist
Of his wrist.
“There is too much
in the world,”
Down his window
To yell at the
Driver in front
“Ever hear of
a turn signal,