Passion, Pride & A Secondhand Suit

It's not a charitable thought - Lord knows, when it comes to my first husband, they're few and far between - but I can't help thinking that he's begun to somewhat resemble an old, fat walrus in a three piece suit.  His laughter is more of a bark, hale and hearty but glaringly insincere, and his eyes have a greedy glitter.  There's something very near cruelty in that superficial smile, something close to menace in his gestures, as if he'd been swallowed up by his own ambition and spit out half digested.  The boy I knew has turned into a stranger with some nasty edges, sharp tongued and acid witted, but nowhere near nice.  Somewhere along his journey, he fell victim to passion, pride and became ashamed to wear a secondhand suit.

Ambition is a stern taskmaster, I suppose, although having very little of my own, I'm not in the best position to judge.  What has always disturbed me is how it can warp the spirit and alter fundamental beliefs.  I recall a young man who blazed about cats and lost causes, who was fiercely independent and anti-war, who rejected a privileged background in favor of joining the fight.  How effortlessly he was seduced back into the fold, how easily he adapted back to wealth, how casually he reclaimed his name and all that went with it.  It makes me wonder how sincere he was in the first place, that naive boy in his ragged blue jeans and leather vests.  How hard is it really to walk in Jesus sandals when a pair of designer dress shoes is waiting at home?  He always had options, I realize, always had a backup plan, a family who was waiting for him to come to his senses and return to embrace their values, their status, their money.  I wonder if his scorn was real or temporary and I wonder if he was or will ever be satisfied or happy.  I wonder what became of him now that he resembles a walrus - is the boy I knew buried inside or was he never there at all - was it all for show?  

The more I ponder, the more I think that his blue collar days were a detour.  Intriguing, frivolous, guaranteed to draw attention and cause talk, but not real.  He was meticulously careful not to burn the bridges to his white collar, high dollar world.

And for a time, I was equally seduced by the monied life although in retrospect, I think I gave up less to have it and eventually came to reject it.  Not that I don't still long for it sometimes - the money, that is, not the lifestyle - but I would hope my social conscience is still intact.  

We drift, we lose our common ground.  Ambition changes things and money divides us.  He is on one side of a chasm, I am on the opposite.  So I allow myself the uncharitable thought.  And console myself with the fact that I am not married to a walrus or a republican.