The few, the strong, the braaaave

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When I first met my boyfriend, a little over a year and a half ago, he was a commercial fisherman in Dutch Harbor, Alaska. Yes, like Deadliest Catch. It’s a running joke between us because every time it has casually come up in a group conversation, someone will go, “OHMYGOD. Like the DEADLIEST CATCH. That is SO SCARY/cool/dangerous/insert adjective here!” which I usually laughed at and rolled my eyes while he answered all their questions. I had never seen the Deadliest Catch and could never really commiserate with them, even though it was my boyfriend they were talking about, and I probably should have been able to say something like, “Oh my God, I KNOW. He’s so strong, brave and amazing.”

When I met him, I knew that commercial fisherman made a lot of money, but I could only focus on how it meant he was gone six months out of the year doing what some will deem the “most dangerous profession.” He left two months after we met each other, and we decided to do the long distance thing even though we were barely official. But, this wasn’t just any long-distance relationship; this was three months with only a two minute, choppy phone call once a week via satellite phone. One time, he didn’t get to call me for two weeks solid and I was sure he had died – swallowed up by the waves of the Bering Sea.

To say it sucked is an understatement. Luckily, he had made the decision to quit before I met him, so the three-month trip we endured was his last. And since, it’s been really hard for him to let go of. It was a profession that he and others respected, and one he was good at. It was a lifestyle and a community he became a part of for five years of his life. It made him feel accomplished and manly and proud. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I think a small part of him died when he decided it was something he couldn’t do anymore for other personal reasons, even though his decision brought me a huge sense of relief. I couldn’t imagine myself the other half of someone who was only home six months a year. I imagined myself a lonely and widowed wife of a fisherman. Uh, no thanks. So while he’s longed for it sometimes, I’ve told him he needed to move on. Oftentimes not so nicely. I recognized the way he felt about fishing, but I didn’t really understand it.

This last year or so of our relationship has occasionally been peppered with reminders of his past boat life – he’ll point out ships in the Seattle harbor that were fishing boats he delivered catches to; he’ll make a reference to “boat lore” or superstitions they used to follow; I’ll tease him about a particularly worn-out and stained pair of socks or underwear, and he’ll say, “They’re boat socks! I need to do laundry;” or I'll often poke fun at him when he wears his sweatshirt around the house that says, "Bering Sea Fisherman: The few, the strong, the brave."

"The FEW. The STRONG. The BRAAAAVE," I'll say in a deep, dramatic breathy voice, and make a face like this:

(I'm such a jerk).

"Shut up," he'll throw back.

Being a fisherman is a part of him. It makes up the DNA of his past, whether or not I understand it or ever will. So although I might have inwardly groaned last night when he asked if we could watch the season opener of Deadliest Catch, I agreed. I guess I decided to unravel one more strand of that DNA.

And I’m really glad I did.

For maybe one of the first times ever in our relationship, I felt totally engrossed in something HE was teaching ME. A part of him that I knew nothing about. I asked him hurried questions - I couldn't get them out fast enough.

“What’s a skipper??? I mean, besides Barbie’s little sister..., ha ha” (I like to laugh at my own jokes frequently).

“A captain. The captain of the boat,” he answered.

"Why do they have zinc on the bottom of the boat? Do all boats have that?!"

"Yes. The salt from the salt water attacks the zinc instead of the boat so it doesn't erode."

I watched as they baited the crab pots, dropped them, and pulled them up, searching for Dungeness crab. And he patiently explained every detail I wanted to know. As I watched the show, totally engrossed, I kept glancing at him and I could see the excitement in his eyes. The knowledge. The longing. The manliness. Rawr. I finally understood the magnitude of this profession. The magnitude of what it meant to him. It was almost, for an overly dramatic effect, like watching a caged animal in their natural habitat. I don’t know that I’d seen him quite like this before.

Anyway, it a special moment for me. In day to day life, there are very few moments when we are in total awe of our significant other. So when it happens, I feel it should be grasped onto and remembered, so the next time someone says, "OHMYGOD. Like the DEADLIEST CATCH. That is SO SCARY/cool/dangerous/insert adjective here,” I won’t roll my eyes. I’ll say,

“I know.”

Currently Feeling: Like I have the worst back pain in the world. I can barely sit at my desk or breathe. What the hell?
Currently Anticipating: Viewing this apartment tonight that I think is PERFECT. I’m so anxious that someone else is going to snag it!
Currently Needing: Drugs. Lots of drugs. And some Bestie Amanda time.