Day 9: It Doesn't Matter

Wish 9: What Matters Most

Several years ago, my wife and I had an argument. It was early evening and we were raising our voices.

Before we knew it, others in the house were affected. Our daughter was sitting quietly in the other room. She did not like what she was hearing. At the far corner of the kitchen, our dog, Chickey, a scrawny Pekingese was cowering behind a chair. Even the dog knew something was wrong.

"Have you walked the dog?" my wife asked our daughter.

"Not yet," she replied.

"Then walk the dog."

"No. Let's all walk the dog."

Still peeved, I called the dog, "Chickey! Where's your leash?"  Chickey looked up, ears on alert. I asked again, "Where's your leash?"

Chickey sprung up and rushed to the front door. She started nipping at her leash. Even in anger, you couldn't help but smile at this sight.

My daughter was excited too. She put the leash on Chickey. The dog was jumping up and down in anticipation of opening the door.

It was a nice cool evening. We walked quietly. I did not speak with my wife, and she did not speak with me.

The quiet was interrupted occasionally by my daughter telling the dog to quit sniffing any rock and post. "Come on, Chickey! Let's go!"

The minutes passed, and our footsteps echoed through the streets. There was a calm that descended upon all of us.

The dog's silly antics and our daughter struggling to take control over her disarmed us grownups. How nice to be a kid again, I thought.

Then, Chickey finally found a good spot, and did her thing on the grass. We let out a collective: "Ew!" I picked up the steaming by-product in a plastic bag and we started back to the house. It's old, but toilet humour still makes us smile.

Then, we decided to take another, slightly longer, route. My wife pointed out a house under renovation, "Look, it's almost finished." I agreed. It was painted in the colour combinations she really liked, if only our house had wooden beams. I was thinking how she loved those colours. I believe she was dreaming about that, too.

Then it struck me. What were we arguing about? What was it that got us to raising our voices at each other. I guess it didn't matter. We just forgot about it.

My daughter was now ahead of us, trying to pull a reluctant dog back into the house. Then, I held my wife's hand. We didn't look at each other. We didn't need to say anything or say sorry. And we didn't have to talk about the argument, because we forgot what we were fighting about.

So, whenever we get into an argument, those words will come up: It doesn't matter.

What matters most is that we love each other.