Recently, on a visit to our daughter’s home in Virginia, we experienced a slightly harrowing ride from Ronald Reagan Airport to her home an hour west of DC. It was made less alarming by our driver, a delightful Senegalese immigrant who regaled us with interesting tales about his country and his path to America. His rich rolling accent enhanced his stories. I don’t remember just how our conversation veered into the area of marriage, but suddenly we landed there, and listened as he praised the idea of a man needing to marry more than one woman. He told us that his grandfather had in fact married four wives. Men being men, he opined, this was the way it should be. After a few minutes of this, we both pushed back. I figured we had a right to express an alternative opinion after 55 plus years in a very happy marriage.
“I love this man,” I insisted, “and I’m not sharing him with any other woman.”
For the first time, he grew quiet. He was probably hoping for a decent tip, which we would have given anyway. But I hope I made him consider another side to this question.
