One Man’s Story Crunch Time Gene Bronson Fell Into House Husband Role By Accident, And Says His Life Is Richer For It

It was a storybook marriage. We went through grade school, high school and college together. We married while undergraduates. My wife Mary continued to pursue a degree in home economics, preparing to be a career homemaker. My major was business administration, in preparation for the life insurance business.

Both of our plans were sidetracked by World War II. I spent the next few years in the Navy escorting convoys in the Atlantic and then serving on an attack transport in the Pacific. Mary continued her education with a dietetic internship in one of Boston’s finest hospitals. She then worked as a registered dietitian in major hospitals.

When World War II ended, Mary started her new career as a homemaker and then mother to our four daughters. We divided our basic responsibilities with Mary in charge of the home and me in charge of the finances. We had some bumps along the marriage roadway. The shock of discovering that Mary had cancer, followed by surgery, radiation and chemotherapy, was an extremely terrifying and sobering experience. But that was 10 years ago and the memory of the trauma has faded into the past. And there was the painful loss of a granddaughter that tore at our hearts. But life goes on and, like a ship emerging from a stormy sea and sailing on to the calm of a sheltered harbor, our lives settled down to a period of serenity.

Until the crunch.

This crunch was what Mary felt in her leg when - on a frigid February morning - her feet flew out from under her on the ice. She fractured three bones in her left leg and foot. Mary’s ankle not only had to be in a cast, but elevated above her heart for several weeks. She had to remain in bed with a stack of pillows under her leg.

This was when I changed from a husband who had observed and appreciated the many facets of good homemaking into a husband who was overwhelmed by all that is involved in the process. I became cook, cleaner and caretaker, and my life is richer for it.

I discovered why our floors and rugs were always immaculate. They were continually being vacuumed. I discovered why the furniture was always dust-free. It was continually being dusted. I discovered that the clothes that were always neatly placed in drawers were first separated before being placed in the washing machine. This also required setting for time, temperature and other details. (All the while I had thought it was an automatic washing machine.)

However, my real trial by fire came when I entered the area of food preparation. One of my favorite dishes is fried eggplant. I thought you just put it in the frying pan. But I learned you peel, slice, then dip each slice in flour, then you place the slice in egg batter slightly diluted with milk, and finally dip each side in either corn meal or cracker crumbs. Then, with a small amount of olive oil and the proper temperature, the eggplant turns a golden brown. I did each step faithfully but the eggplant turned out black. I had the frying pan too hot.

Mary and I had acquired a taste for a breakfast we both enjoyed in Taxco, Mexico. Mary, like a lab technician, dissected the ingredients and duplicated the delicious dish. One Saturday morning, I decided to make it. Mary didn’t have a recipe, but she said she would direct me step by step in preparing the dish. She was like a coach at the sideline sending in the plays. I was a pretty inept quarterback. The first play called for chopping up bacon. After preparing the bacon, I placed it in the frying pan.

While the bacon was being fried I was directed to slice green peppers and onions and then chop them with a French knife. The chopped green peppers and onions were then added to the bacon and cooked until semi-transparent. Meanwhile, I was directed to break three eggs in a bowl and remove two yolks. I was then directed to add just a small amount of skim milk and beat the eggs thoroughly. I was then told the precise time to pour the eggs evenly over the mixture of bacon, green peppers and onions, stirring the mixture with a wooden spoon. At just the precise time I was then expected to spread the salsa sauce evenly over the mixture, sprinkle the grated mozzarella cheese and cover the contents - all in one motion.

Then, like sending in the place kicker after the touchdown, I was directed to remove the contents from the skillet, place it on the two hot plates from the oven and get them to the table. I felt rather proud that the breakfast was quite similar to what I formerly experienced, but I needed a shower after what I had gone through.

As I sat there eating, I noticed a subtle smile on Mary’s face. I remembered how on Saturday mornings, as I was reading the paper at the table, she would walk in, place the same plate of food in front of me and then sit down with complete composure. Suddenly, another thought occurred to me. After Mary’s painstaking effort to prepare some very delightful meal for which timing was of the essence, I had responded to the call for dinner with: “Just a minute, honey, when I finish what I’m doing.”

Along with the household chores there was the matter of taking care of Mary. This was also a new experience for me. While Mary was constantly apologizing for all the inconvenience she felt she had caused me, I was surprised at my response. Instead of feeling burdened by the demands, I got a real sense of pleasure and satisfaction in responding to her needs.

As the weeks went by, I realized that if I were required to take care of Mary as I was doing - even for the rest of her life - I could do so with a true sense of enjoyment and satisfaction. I finally concluded that this was simply the byproduct of a long and loving marriage.

As to the future: I am prepared to give up the title of chief cook and bottle washer and return to the hobby of woodworking in my carpentry shop. I would even be happy to make those electrical and plumbing repairs and other items on her honey-do list in lieu of being brought back into my domestic role of the winter of 1995.

MEMO: Gene Bronson, 76, has been in the life insurance business in Spokane for more than 50 years. He and his wife Mary have been married 57 years.

This sidebar appeared with the story: ONE MAN’S STORY This first-person article is part of an occasional series of stories about men’s issues. Have you faced a recent challenge you could tell us as “One Man’s Story”? If so, write: Women & Men, Features Department, The Spokesman-Review, P.O. Box 2160, Spokane, WA 99210.