After 15 years...

My husband, Kyle, and I met when I was 16 and he was 17. He was the "athletic" type, while I was the poetry reading, 'The Smiths' listening, thought I was above the high school crowd type. For some reason we were instantly attracted to each other, which I would attribute to the fact that we both love to laugh.

Over the years, I have certainly teased him about being smarter than him. There are many things that led me to this conclusion, so let us analyze...

I have a fine arts background. I know about art, music, literature...I graduated from one of the best music schools. I have been to Europe twice, and actually have classical music on my iPod - that I listen too! I listen to jazz and quit getting perms before I was out of highschool.

He has a degree in computer science, two of them actually. Knows all about football, Nascar, cars, breast size and rap music. Wore white jeans on our first date (honestly, who does that and expects to get lucky?). Has probably logged more time playing video games than an astronaut spends in a flight simulator.

Now - here is the part that I hate to admit. Unlike me, Kyle has a masters degree...and would you believe he actually works in the field that he studies - who honestly does that! Kyle has been to more operas or live theatrical productions than I have been to sporting events. Kyle does enjoy classical music, jazz music, and just about any type of music you can think of. He also helped me understand football, and I can honestly say that I look forward to football season, actively watch as many games as I can, and dred when it's over. Kyle has definitely read more books than me in the last several years, and not just technical crap, really good books (dare I say, literature?)

So alas, while I might have had a head start on him at age 16, he has definitely surpassed me some 15 plus years later. He is more than I ever imagined he could be, and he just keeps getting better - as a father, husband, and friend.

In hind sight, the smartest thing I have done is looking past the white jeans, albeit difficult, and building a life with him.