National Asset

One afternoon many years ago, Ron and I were on layover in an airport somewhere in the middle of North America, waiting to catch the last leg of our journey home. Picture me walking several steps behind him, lugging my purse and carryon and jacket, as he leads the way towards two of those empty generic black seats. Suddenly he is stopped by a random man in the waiting area, and a conversation, mostly one-sided, ensues. I pull up and they continue talking with me awkwardly waiting…waiting…waiting for Ron to introduce me. He never does.

Finally Random Man turns to address me, glancing back at Ron with something that looks suspiciously like adoration in his eyes, and he says to me (in hushed tones), you know, your husband is a National Asset.

I can’t remember what I said. Probably nothing. I think I stood there with this completely stupid look on my face as I tried to process what in the world he was talking about and what an appropriate response would be to such a statement.

Eventually Random Man moves on and lets us proceed to the still empty black chairs.

“Why didn’t you introduce me to him?” I ask in a slightly peevish tone.

“I don’t know who he is,” National Asset replies, with a sheepish look on his face.

This may not be an appropriate place to quote Jesus, but He did say that a prophet is not without honor except among his own relatives and in his own home. And this comes to mind on the occasions when references to our very own National Asset come up. You see, unbelievably, this type of thing has happened more than once. Sometimes he is referred to as a national treasure, and sometimes as National Asset. But in either case, these stories tend to spark raucous laughter in the retelling.

Now, I would be the last, the absolute LAST, person to denigrate my husband. He is the most hardworking man I know. Not only is he amazingly skilled in his work, he is also kind to everyone. He never loses his temper. He always works to do the best job he can, without any thought for approval or gain or celebrity. He has worked equally hard for good bosses and bad bosses, and even for bosses who, due to an astonishingly odd system of regular reorganization, have no clue who he is or what he does.

To say our family is proud of him is like saying the sun is somewhat necessary for life on earth – an outrageous understatement.

But for some reason, incidents like the one described above just make me roll my eyes. To have total strangers (acting all giddy like they’ve just had a celebrity sighting) think they have some kind of duty to inform me that he is amazing - the man whose hankies I iron and whose hair I cut out in the backyard with an old tablecloth wrapped around his shoulders - well, it just seems bizarre.

They know a man who can stand in front of large crowds of very talented and intelligent folk and wow them with the way he articulates complex concepts with clarity and humor. They recognize the achievements of a life spent pursuing new ways of looking at things, of asking questions and chasing solutions. And yes, he probably does qualify as a national treasure or asset. But even if the shoe fits, it does tend to bring to mind the image of Nicholas Cage chasing madly after clues in search of, well, a treasure.

The man I know is indeed a treasure, but of a different kind. He was the first person in my life who actually loved listening to me make music. He’d find me in the choir room or chapel and quietly take a seat as I practiced piano after school. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but I trace the sweet, delicate beginning of a lifetime of loving back to those afternoons.

After Ron graduated high school and I was slogging through my senior year, my locker became our secret mail drop. I’d spin the dial on the lock each morning and open it up to find a note waiting for me, which I would then carry around in my pocket all day. Before closing up my locker at end of day a new note, in my handwriting this time, waited expectantly for pickup. I still have those notes. I’ve saved them all, like a dried bouquet of flowers that just cannot be thrown away.

So I guess the reason I find the designation of National Asset laugh-out-loud funny is because it seems pretentious and, well, gaudy. The very things Ron emphatically is not. But it does have one redeeming quality: our family finds endless delight in the value of this term for teasing purposes. And having a reason to laugh together is not a bad thing at all.