The Swan Boat Story

This is the story of how I lost an argument with my husband 17 years after the initial disagreement and why it doesn’t matter.

The year was 1999, the month October. On the radio, TLC was adamant about wanting “no scrubs,” and the threat of Y2K was in the news. Chris and I had been officially dating for a couple of months, although we kept a low profile at our shared workplace, the College Board. It seemed like the right thing to do, and, let’s face it, a secret office romance is hot.

One of our job responsibilities was to represent the College Board at conferences. And Chris and I were having a blast touring the country together on our company’s dime. We’d perform our work duties—attend panel discussions and show guidance counselors how to use our website. But in our free time, Chris would plan excursions. In Austin, we went searching for the best BBQ. In Las Vegas, we toured the Hoover Dam. We fell in love on these trips. In case my boss ever wandered into my hotel room, I’d muss up the sheets on my bed so it looked like I slept there.  

In October 1999, Chris and I were sent to NACAC’s conference at the Walt Disney World Swan and Dolphin Resort in Orlando, FL. After a day of working the booth, a bunch of us youngish employees all went out to dinner. The drinks were flowing, so we were all a bit tipsy when we left the restaurant. As we walked past a lagoon on our way back to our rooms, we noticed that someone had left two swan paddle boats unattended and unlocked. In our drunken state, we thought it would be a great idea to take these for a spin. Chris and I got in one boat, and our co-workers Laura and Michael got in another. Off we paddled into the dark waters of the Disney lagoon. 

Laura and Michael (who both happen to be tall and skinny) were zipping around the calm water, elegant and graceful in their swan. Chris and I (who would never be described as tall and skinny) tried to follow them, but no matter how much pressure we put on the pedals, our swan boat would hardly budge. We were sweating and grunting as we attempted to catch up to the graceful Laura and Michael. Something was wrong. Water began pouring in, first up to our ankles, then up to our knees. The drain hole was unplugged! We turned the swan towards shore while Laura and Michael zipped past us, yelling, “What’s wrong?” Our swan began listing heavily to the left. We were sinking!  

The situation was ridiculous, and I started laughing. One of those bend-over, hardy belly laughs that take over your whole body, making it impossible to do anything. I was in a fit of hysterics. 

Are you still with me? Here is where the argument starts.  

Chris did not think the sinking swan situation was funny. 

“Pull it together,” he said sternly. Remember, we had only been dating a few months, so this was the first time he had spoken harshly to me. I bristled at his tone, but I did what he asked and stopped laughing. We paddled as close to shore as we could, then climbed out and pulled the swan towards land. When we dragged it up on the sand, I turned to him and said, “What’s your deal? Why did you get so upset?” 

“We were sinking!” he exclaimed. 

“So what? We know how to swim. Plus, it’s only knee-deep. We weren’t going to drown!” My tone, I’m sure, was snarky.   

“There could be alligators in this lagoon,” Chris said. To which I burst out laughing again and, with an eye roll, responded, “Alligators in a man-made Walt Disney Resort lagoon? Gimme a break!” 

(Some of you may know where this going … )

Because we were newly dating, we recovered quickly from that fight. We eventually told HR we were a couple, and we got engaged. Our co-workers, Laura and Michael, were invited to the wedding. As of this month, we’ve been married 22 years.

Anyone who has ever been in therapy knows that the disagreement is never really what the fight is about. You’re not fighting about the correct way to load the dishwasher. (Actually, this is a bad example as there is a proper way to load a dishwasher.) Typically, there’s an underlying issue that, unless addressed, will keep coming up over and over again. 

The theme of that swan boat disagreement can be boiled down to: Chris is uptight (my opinion) vs  Liz is dangerously unsafe (his opinion). This theme has come up over and over again in our marriage, causing fight after fight.  

If you’ve been in a relationship for any length of time, you know that there exists an invisible scoreboard that keeps track of who is winning every argument. I picture mine as black with neon digital numbers. It hovers slightly above our heads as we bicker. Oh yeah, it has sound.   

When Chris is right about not placing the pizza boxes on the stove because they could catch on fire, <DING>, one point for him. 

When we get an email from public works informing us we don’t need to sort the recycling as Chris has been insisting we did, <DING>, one point for me!  

During the first years of our marriage, this scoreboard seemed all important. I wanted to be right, and I wanted Chris to know I was right (and he was wrong.) I focused on proving that I was right, or I hid things that would prove I was wrong. This focus on the scoreboard can ruin a marriage. And at around Marriage Year Nine, our relationship imploded.  

“You going to be so surprised when the real of marriage hits,” Michelle Obama said on a beloved podcast. 

And surprised we were. Things were rough, and it became clear that continuing to focus on who was right and who was wrong was only hurting our marriage. 

My therapist said, “Would you rather be right, or would you rather be married?” Hmmm, I had to think about that one. 

My sponsor said, “You’re the only one keeping score, Liz.” (Hmmm, I’m not sure that was correct. It felt like Chris was keeping score, too. But I got the point. Keep my side of the street clean. Worry about myself, not about what Chris was or was not doing.)

And something miraculously happened. When I stopped focusing on the scoreboard, so did Chris. When I tried to be better about something he might think was dangerous (shower cap on the smoke detector so it didn’t go off when I cooked), he tried to be less nervous about something I thought didn’t matter (leaving the fireplace glass doors open so we could enjoy the fire).   

We pushed through that difficult time in our marriage and renewed our vows on our 10th wedding anniversary. 

Remember the swan boat? It’s a story about a swan boat. 

The year was 2016, the month June. On the radio, Justin Bieber was wondering if it was too late to say sorry and we hadn’t yet had the shock of the 2016 election. Chris and I were in Marriage Year 15. We still sometimes traveled the country for a work conference, but this time with our three children in tow. Chris still planned excursions. In Phoenix, we rode horses. In Hawaii, we swam with sea turtles. 

In June 2016, a tragic story hit the news. “Disney Gator Attack: Two-Year Old Boy Found Dead.” It was horrific. A horrible, horrible tragedy. 

It took about two weeks before Chris and I said anything to each other. Our pause an attempt to show some respect for the family’s tragedy. But one night, as we were sitting on the couch, Chris said, “So … did you see the news about … ” And he didn’t have to say another word. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Because after 15 years of marriage, you can read each other’s mind.  

“Yes,” I responded. I said grabbing his hand. “I know! You were right. There are alligators in those man-made Disney lagoons.”

<DING>, the scoreboard gave a point in Chris’s favor. 

He was right, I was wrong. But by then, our marriage had shifted, and I no longer cared what the scoreboard said. I was fine with him being right. Because yes, I WOULD rather be married than right. And we’ve been together long enough to know sometimes he was right, and sometimes I was right. It evened out in the end. And I no longer lead my life by the scoreboard. My sponsor was right. The scoreboard is for suckers.  

Like Michelle Obama said: “Marriage is an ever-evolving compromise.” Chris tries not to care when I don’t sort the recycling, and I keep the pizza boxes off the stove. Most days, that works. And in general, we stay away from swan boats.

Here we are the day after the swan boat disaster, surveying the damage.