A Man Named Dave

she was the perfect choice. While some scoffed at her decision, thinking that she would play the role of a mere secretary, answering phones and filing paperwork, Marsha faced many demands: arranging continuous media interviews, strategizing every aspect of the strenuous travel logistics, and keeping my calendar packed with engagements. At times when I was away, Marsha slaved twelve to sixteen hours, only to end her day by fighting to keep up with paperwork correspondence, which began as a trickle but soon flooded to the point she was answering thousands of pieces of mail a month from all over the world.
    Since our lives were so crazy, we worked hard on our personal relationship. With Marsha I learned to listen and not father her, to offer advice when I thought it was needed. When we’d have a disagreement, we’d talk things through. When we’d have a heated discussion, we’d try our best to resolve the issue, learn from it, and move forward. Throughout every situation, every obstacle we faced together, Marsha remained sincere and dedicated and never broke my trust.
    Allowing Marsha into the deepest recesses of my heart and, more important, introducing her to Stephen, was the highest compliment I could give to her. I was learning from my past mistakes and respecting her as a lady. Marsha resided in a cozy cottage near the Russian River across from me. After work we’d curl up on her futon to watch a movie or read well into the late evening, until I left after kissing her good night.
    With Marsha I didn’t have to spend my time worrying about when the sky would come crashing down. In business, she protected me in so many ways. She taught me the fine line between helping others and being taken advantage of. There were ways to help others, provide for my own son, and maintain my own self-worth – instead of constantly neglecting and sabotaging myself just to please others.
    Marsha also helped me to grow as an individual, in ways I never thought possible. For years I had felt I was swimming against the tide, with lead weights cuffed to my ankles. But somehow Marsha seemed to part the waters, while coaching me along the way. She not only made me believe there was little I could not accomplish, but that I was indeed deserving and was destined to succeed. With Marsha I was invincible.
    As a couple we went through a great many peaks and valleys. Marsha was in a completely different world. Since I was on the road so much, being pulled in every direction, combined with her getting to know Stephen, and a few difficult situations she encountered with Patsy, life for Marsha sometimes became too much. When times were tough and we could barely scrape together enough money to pay our bills, Marsha would huddle with me in my bone-chilling cabin and share a Cup-O-Soup and a loaf of day-old French bread. Yet somehow, together, we found a way to help others who we knew were worse off. For a while it seemed everything was against us. We’d question our business wisdom to the point that we’d break into tears. It seemed we were both working our tails off, but only just keeping our heads above water. But together, we never lost faith, for Marsha and I knew tomorrow was indeed another day.
    Over time, as we made solid progress, Marsha insisted that I move out of my moldy “icebox”, into a warm, modern two-bedroom home among the redwood trees. It looked like a tree-house for grown-ups. After years of sacrificing and pinching every penny, Marsha basically kicked me in the behind, saying that I deserved to live like a normal human being. My proudest moment after moving into my new home was holding Stephen by the shoulders as I walked him into his bedroom – that was filled with brand-new furniture, toys, and video games that he had wanted. For years after the divorce, when Stephen would visit me at my old house, we’d shiver in bed – at first on my air mattress, then later on my cardboard-like pedestal bed. When I could not afford to make Stephen an elaborate meal, we simply heated up a frozen dinner. Because I did not have a dining room table then, Stephen would sit on a wobbly bar stool while I stood beside him. Stephen never complained. In an odd sense, maybe having him watch me struggle was good for his character. For only Marsha knew the extent of the sacrifices I placed upon myself, to provide for and protect my son.
    As with everything in my life, ever so slowly things began to fall into place. When I was on the road, after going over