My wife, Lisa, and I were visiting a turtle sanctuary in the Caribbean as part of our anniversary cruise. Celebrating eleven years together meant choosing excursions that catered to our sense of adventure, and this turtle farm was Lisa’s pick. I wasn’t particularly excited about it; turtles have never been my thing. The only turtles I really think about are the ones from cartoons, and they hardly represent the reality of these gentle giants gliding through the water.
However, as soon as I laid eyes on the enormous, graceful 500-pound turtles, I was captivated. The sun beat down, mingling the scents of saltwater and animal musk in the air. The turtles splashed and made soft grunting noises that somehow enhanced their majesty.
“Wow, these creatures are incredible,” I remarked, genuinely impressed.
Lisa beamed at me. “See? I told you it would be fun!”
We moved from tank to tank, marveling at the size and beauty of each turtle. There was a sign that read, “Please do not touch the turtles,” but my curiosity piqued. “Why can’t we touch them?” I questioned, glancing at Lisa, who shot me a warning look that said, “Don’t even think about it.”
At that moment, our guide warned, “These turtles have very strong jaws. They could easily bite through a hand.” That was enough to make anyone think twice, but when one turtle swam close, it looked so inviting and friendly. I couldn’t resist the urge to reach out. It wasn’t something I had planned; maybe I’m just foolish, or perhaps I have a childish inquisitiveness that compels me to do the exact opposite of what I’m told.
So, when Lisa turned her back and the guide led the group forward, I placed my hand on the turtle’s shell. In that instant, I felt a rush of adrenaline, thinking I was far enough from its mouth. But I quickly learned that the turtle had feelings too. It swatted my arm with its flipper, grunted loudly, and swam away. Water splashed everywhere, and I yanked my hand back just as Lisa turned around, her expression saying it all.
“Really?” she asked incredulously. “They specifically said not to touch the turtle, and you did it anyway!”
I raised my hand defensively. “Look! I’m fine!”
“What if you had lost your hand?” she shot back.
“But I didn’t,” I replied, still holding my hand up triumphantly. “All good here.”
Standing by the tank, I could see her disappointment. It was the same look she gives our son when he misbehaves, a mix of concern and “you should know better.” But I wasn’t her child. I was her husband, and I really should have known better. I had disregarded the warning, and as I thought back to jokes I’d heard about husbands being like another child for their wives, I began to wonder if maybe my wife truly had four kids—three actual children and me.
After a moment of silence, I broke the tension. “Wait, if I had lost my hand, would you still love me?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, I’d have to explain to everyone how my husband lost his hand to a turtle. It wouldn’t be easy to get over that.”
I pictured myself as a punchline, like the character Buster from Arrested Development who loses his hand to a seal. It was funny on TV, but I realized the ridicule would be real in life. I felt like a fool, the one person who couldn’t resist the temptation even after being warned. If I had suffered a serious injury, I could have easily become a viral sensation for all the wrong reasons, and the last thing I’d want is for Lisa to be married to “that guy.”
Eventually, we fell quiet, and I sorted through my feelings. At first, I felt defensive, but by the time we boarded the bus for our boat, I turned to Lisa and said, “I’m really sorry for touching the turtle.”
“It’s okay,” she replied, her smile returning. “I still love you.”
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In conclusion, sometimes life’s lessons come from unexpected places, and even the smallest mistakes can reveal deeper truths about our relationships and ourselves.