Before I left for Athens, my grandparents called to say goodbye. “Just don’t marry a Greek man!” my grandma said.
“But that’s my plan!” I answered.
“Tricia can marry whoever she wants,” my grandpa said.
I knew what my grandma was worried about. “If I do marry a Greek man,” I assured her. “I’ll make sure he is okay with frequent trips to Peoria so we can see you often.”
“Okay,” she said. “Just make sure he’s a Christian.”
“Tricia can live here for a year with no problem,” Argyris told his coworker. “After that we will have to use a different visa.”
His coworker smiled. “Or she could marry someone from Greece. That’s what I did.”
This conversation happened three times.
“A girl from the United States moved to Greece and met a nice Greek man. Now she is having her second baby!” Dina told me. She looked at me for a moment. “How do you feel about that story?”
“It’s really nice,” I said.
“So…can I start praying for your Greek husband?”
“Yeah, I would be very okay with that.”
Dina clapped her hands together. “Oh, good!”
“My friend Michal told me I should marry a Greek man,” I told my roommate Kelly. “I think she was right. They’re really masculine, but at the same time, they’re open with their emotions.”
Kelly nodded. “They have no problem helping in the kitchen.”
“Or being a fully involved parent,” I added.
“And you’re right. They show their emotions without acting like their masculinity is being threatened.”
“Hmmmm,” I mused. “Yeah, I think I’m going to marry a Greek man.”
Kelly frowned. “It would be hard to go back to American men after living here, that’s for sure.”