When I first met the love of my life, he owned a garbage bag full of clothes, a 1976 Ford work van, a pair of work boots, a chainsaw and a very large dog. If anyone has ever watched the movie Drillbit Taylor…well, he was kind of like that only with more skills.
If there ever was a textbook definition of a “bad boy” he was certainly just that. He drove a fast and loud motorcycle, drank way too much, womanized as a sport and filled his lungs full of smoke from nasty cigarettes. But did I mention he had the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen in my life?
During the first year of our relationship I never saw him in a pair of tennis shoes, only work boots. When I introduced him to riding bicycles for enjoyment, it was both amusing and annoying to look back and find him peddling, boots and all, about 40 yards behind me with a cigarette dangling from his mouth shouting “you call this fun?” He was “rough around the edges” as my girlfriend liked to say. “Where the hell did you find this one?” asked my best friend. I knew what she was implying but the heart wants what it wants. I was growing tired and weary of pretty boys with soft hands and over educated men who could do advanced calculus but couldn’t do real life.
True, he was “rough around the edges” but I liked the way his rough hands felt against my body. I loved the depth of his blue eyes and when he looked at me, he REALLY looked at me. I loved the strength in his forearms and how he could lift me up onto the kitchen counter and make me forget that a kitchen was for cooking. I felt safe with him. No guns were needed. He could land a sweet left hook on any asshole who messed with him. He was a protector. A natural fighter. A bad, bad, rough around the edges type of boy. He was exactly what you don’t go looking for but he somehow finds you.
I loved going on “city tours” with him where he took me to his childhood neighborhood, in parts of the city I had never been in before. He wanted me to meet Dale at the DQ who taught him how to swim and Ron at the Boys Club who taught him how to play basketball. I wasn’t just dating a “bad boy”…I was dating a survivor. I was dating a strong and misunderstood man with grit, determination and intelligence. Baggage? Yeah, and it was heavy but I wanted to help him carry it.
He was highly skilled and determined to convince me that he was “the one.” I wanted a deck. He built it. I wanted a firepit stool – he made it. I wanted a fast motorcycle ride – he took me on a few. I wanted to dance drunk in a redneck bar – he put 50 cents in the juke box, pulled me onto his lap and told everyone to “shut the F*ck up because my baby wants to dance to a little AC/DC.” He had just enough crazy in him to bring out the crazy in me. I was drunk on his wild spirit.
Two kids and twenty-four years later my bad boy has mellowed. Tamed? Almost. Fatherhood is his forte. Our picture albums are full of memories with our children consisting of beach vacations, baseball and soccer games, mountain hiking and just enjoying our life. Twenty-four years ago, more than a few people bet against us. They lost that bet. I wasn’t really sure if it would work. I just knew I had to try.
Cosmo gives advice every month to millions of women about how to find “Mr. Right” and avoid “bad boys.” It’s all wrong. Cosmo can suck it!
So how do you find Mr. Right? You don’t. He finds you. The universe has a way of giving you exactly what you need if you just let it. Be open to the guy you would have never considered. I found my own little Drillbit Taylor and I am grateful. Take away his car, his home, his career and just look at him. Forget where he came from. Just look at him in the moment. I mean really look at him. Does he make you smile? Does he make you laugh? Is he good to you? Are you good to him? Do you feel better with him? Do you enjoy his company? Does he listen to you? Do you feel loved when you are with him? Do you feel safe? Do you feel happy? Do you miss him when he is gone? Can you picture life without him? Does he have a good temperament? Does he know how to enjoy life? Does he work hard? Does he try? Does he respect your family? Does he respect your parents? Does he tell you his dreams? Does he rub his scruffy beard on your neck and tell you he loves you?
Most importantly, can he build you a castle? Not the million-dollar kind that Cosmo talks about. Can he build you the biggest SAND CASTLE you ever saw, on the beach, in the blazing hot sun, and put you in the middle of it and declare you the queen? If so, he’s a keeper and you just might want to marry that bad, bad boy. I am betting on you.
@copyright by Teresa McIntosh-Hall
Teresa McIntosh-Hall is a writer, blogger, social worker and political activist who married a bad boy.