A Little Thing Called Life

by Linda Thompson

  Bruce was a romantic, thoughtful guy—the type of man to send flowers and to remember anniversaries with flowers, gifts, and a card. He liked to wine and dine me, although we didn’t really drink wine, so mostly he just dined me. Part of Bruce’s training had been to eat pasta the night before a big meet to store up all those carbs, and he still loved to go out and eat pasta.

  Bruce quickly set me straight about healthy eating habits with an adage he adhered to himself and often repeated to others: “I eat to live,” he said. “I don’t live to eat.” Not only was this a great line that got me thinking about my own relationship to food, but I also witnessed him putting his philosophy into action. I can remember being out to dinner with him one night when I was pushing my way through an oversize portion of pasta, even though I’d already exclaimed how full I was. Like a faithful Southerner, I loved good food, and I had grown up without a lot, so I couldn’t bear the thought of wasting anything. I was one of those people who, when they go out to eat, often think, Oh, should I take this home or should I just finish it here because there’s starving people in the world? I feel too guilty to leave this on my plate. On this night, Bruce had left some of his food uneaten, as he often did.

  “Bruce, how can you do that in good conscience?” I said. “There are so many starving people in the world.”

  “Honey, this is the way you’ve got to look at it,” he said. “That’s either going to be garbage in a can somewhere, or it’s going to be garbage in your body. If it’s garbage in your body, it’s going to turn to fat and toxicity and slow you down. It’s unhealthy and it’s going to make you sluggish. Would you rather throw garbage in your body, or throw it in the can, where it’s not going to do you any harm?”

  “You’re absolutely right,” I said.

  I put down my fork. It was a revelation to me, and from then on, my relationship with food changed. I’d grown up on country-fried everything, from fried chicken to fried catfish, and then I’d become a bit of a foodie, but I began to frequently think of Bruce’s admonishment to not treat the body like a garbage disposal. I started adhering to that approach every time I went out, splitting entrees and dishes as much as I could, something that continues to this day. And if there was food left on my plate, I stopped myself before being stuffed to the point of discomfort. There were many other healthy habits I learned from Bruce. While I already exercised fairly regularly, I had to pick up the pace to stay in step with him, so I began incorporating exercise into my daily routine.

  I find it so valuable to be able to look back on a past relationship and acknowledge: I’ve learned so much from that person, just as I hope that person will be cognizant of lessons I may have imparted to him during our time together. After all, I feel that’s why we are here, to help each other grow and learn along the way, as our paths intersect in life. Elvis had already brought a great deal to my existence. And now, here was Bruce, adding even more, inspiring me to tackle each new day with as much exuberance as he applied to every moment of his experience.

  In nearly every way our relationship felt like the opposite of my life with Elvis. Instead of staying in and watching TV, Bruce and I were constantly on the move—indeed, there were many thrills and spills dating Bruce. He made a good living from his sponsorships by such brands as Wheaties, London Fog, and Minolta cameras. He did infomercials, had a contract with NBC Sports, and was an in-demand motivational speaker who gave talks all over the world. We even did an exercise video together. As a hobby, he raced cars. Not long into our relationship, he took me to the twenty-four-hour race at Daytona Beach, Florida. I ended up getting sick because I was up all night to be there for him as he completed the course. Even though the race was in the Sunshine State, at that time it was cold outside, and I was freezing and on my feet for hours. I was used to being up all night with Elvis, watching TV, but now I was seeing the dawn with Bruce so he could race cars. During that event, one of the engines exploded and oil went all over his windshield, almost causing him to crash. My heart was in my throat the whole time. It didn’t at all alleviate my fear that his racing suit was labeled with his name, Jenner, and his blood type, B positive.

  “I’m really worried about this,” I often said to Bruce.

  “Oh, it’s perfectly safe,” he responded, casual as could be.

  “If it’s such a safe sport, then why is your blood type on your suit?” I asked.

  He didn’t have a good answer for that. But even though I was sometimes worried about Bruce’s adrenaline-junky side, he was so highly skilled at everything he did, even at the highest speeds, that it was difficult for me to imagine any real harm befalling him. And I could easily comprehend how someone as driven as he was would constantly need to set the bar higher in all-new attempts to challenge himself. Elvis definitely had a self-destructive side, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Bruce’s tendency to want to go faster, higher, harder was any indication that he, too, had such a streak. Elvis had often engaged in risky behaviors on the spur of the moment, almost like a little boy who couldn’t resist the adventure. Bruce had a remarkable natural athleticism but still pushed the envelope when it came to what most of us would call dangerous activities.

  I was seeing the world through the rosy lens of love, as we do when we’re really falling for someone we’re dating. I wanted to do things for Bruce to show him my appreciation and affection. I decided to plan a whole special evening and have him over.

  “I want to cook for you,” I said.

  I knew that he loved pasta, so I made baked stuffed shells. I filled those giant pasta shells with ricotta cheese and covered them with a sauce I’d made. I even put together a pretty little menu that I wrote out with a flourish describing all of the items I would be serving that night. We ate by candlelight in the living room at a big table I had placed in there, and it was quite a lovely evening.

  I went on to cook several special meals for Bruce during our years together, but the truth is, I’m not a great cook.

  “Honey, don’t worry,” he said. “That’s not the best thing you do.”

  Instantly, I felt myself relax. I could be at ease with Bruce, bad cooking and all, and he only seemed to like me more. I was so pleased to find that he wasn’t at all thrown by life’s little bumps in the road. Rather, he was showing himself to be patient and mild-mannered, just the kind of man I’d want to marry and give my future children as a father.

  Like Elvis, Bruce never expected a woman to be the picture of domesticity. The more I got to know and love him, the more at ease I felt. Having gone through so much pain over the past few years, due to my separation from Elvis and the grief caused by his untimely passing, it was wonderful to be happy and in love again with a man who had so much to offer.

  Bruce was world famous, handsome, fun, entertaining, and exciting—all qualities I’d also experienced with Elvis. But he was also a great deal lighter in his demeanor and his temperament than Elvis had been. Although Elvis was certainly lighthearted, and amusing, and wonderful in his own way, he’d had his dark side, of course, with his quick temper and mood swings. Having grown accustomed to anticipating and ameliorating the outbursts of both my mother and Elvis, I was good at staying one step ahead of mercurial personalities. But now I no longer had to be so vigilant and diplomatic. It was a relief to stop expending so much energy being another’s emotional nursemaid.

  Much as Bruce had been direct and open with me during the complex circumstances of our early days together, he remained communicative and flexible. When he needed to travel for his job as an NBC Sports correspondent, or for a speaking engagement, he preferred to have me with him. And he was an easy companion with whom to make plans and travel. But if I had an acting role booked, or a desire to see my family back in Memphis, he was comfortable with me having a life of my own, too. We made all such decisions together, without fanfare, proving that our union did have the potential to be the respectful partnership I’d hoped. It was as if I could exhale now.

  But even beyond his dis
position, he was just so much more a regular guy with a more predictable, normal life. Sure, Bruce was famous, but not “Elvis famous.” And after Elvis famous, Bruce famous seemed fairly natural to me. Neither of us was extravagant in our tastes or habits, and we didn’t need much beyond our casual, active life in Malibu. We were happy doing everyday things like heading to the beach and going out to dinner. He traveled often for his motivational speaking, and when I accompanied him, as I regularly did, it allowed us to explore other destinations, too. It was a nice life.

  Knowing I had spent years sleeping all day, and staying up all night, and had continued that pattern after Elvis and I broke up, Bruce was happy to welcome me back to the sunshine. Every morning, Bruce would greet the rising sun with a resounding “Good morning! Today is not just another day—it’s another day to excel!”

  In some ways, Bruce and Elvis were almost like different incarnations of the ideal man. While Elvis was beautiful to look at and listen to, the reality behind his beguiling façade was another story. On the other hand, Bruce hadn’t earned the title of “World’s Greatest Athlete” for nothing. He set the world on fire. He was confident, and he was pretty much the perfect physical specimen. He took impeccable care of himself.

  Unlike Elvis, who had exhibited a very different persona in public than in private, I never saw a crack in Bruce’s high-energy, positive veneer. He was never “off,” or cranky, or short-tempered with me, except for a few noticeable times during my second pregnancy.

  When Bruce and I had first come together, he was made vulnerable by his divorce, which gave me a chance to take on the caregiver role I relished. But even then, Bruce did not truly need all that much care. This minor vulnerability only brought us closer together. It also humanized Bruce and made me understand that he wasn’t impenetrable, even if he sometimes seemed that way.

  I never really had a reason to doubt Bruce. Maybe, in part, it was because I was naturally much the same—easygoing, motivated, active, family oriented, and positive. When Bruce was traveling, he was always reliable and thoughtful about calling me every day, sometimes multiple times in a day.

  Every morning, Bruce and I would take turns getting each other coffee and bring our cups for a walk on the beach while we talked about our feelings and our future. One of the things I loved most about him was how lighthearted he always seemed, and so impossibly optimistic. He was a delightfully easy person to not only spend time with, but to live with as well. Everything felt so natural with him, from jumping in the shower together after a hard game of tennis, to entertaining friends and family, to just listening to music at home.

  Bruce was a great coach, teaching me every sport I now enjoy, as well as teaching my nieces how to dive while they were visiting us one summer. He was patient and encouraging. I would be hard-pressed to find very many things to criticize about Bruce early on in our relationship. He added greatly to my happiness and was my treasured best friend for those years. I thought we were the happiest of young couples, that I had found the “normal” I had been searching for.

  Bruce and I enjoyed the process of getting to know each other better, which also meant becoming close to each other’s families. Whereas Elvis and I shared a Southern upbringing, Bruce had grown up in Tarrytown, New York, which made him a Yankee. But Bruce and I still had a good deal in common in how we’d been raised. Bruce was also from a solid middle-class background, so we were both imbued with good middle-class values. Both Bruce and I had fathers who had served in the army in World War II—his as an Army Ranger, while mine was in an army engineer combat unit under General Patton that advanced ahead of the troops to pave the way and build bridges. His dad was a hard worker who owned his own tree-trimming service. My dad was a truck driver. Both of our moms were housewives.

  One area where Bruce and I did differ was religion. While my faith continued to be extremely important to me, he was basically an agnostic. I think Bruce is a believer now, but during our time together, faith was not a part of who he was. Although he was not what you might term a Christian, or even someone who believed in God, I saw him as a truly spiritual person because he led such an exemplary life.

  When Bruce and I were back in Memphis together, someone I knew there brought up Bruce’s lack of religious belief, in a conversation with just me. I made sure they knew the real man he was, and the great value I saw in Bruce’s way of being.

  “Well, you know Bruce says he’s not sure he believes in God,” this person said.

  “Maybe not, but he lives it,” I said. “He just lives it. So I think that’s more important than professing to believe in Christ’s teachings, and in God, when you behave quite the opposite. Because then you’re a hypocrite. At least Bruce lives it.”

  Whether Bruce believed in God or not, in my view he exemplified what godly teachings would instruct us all to do: treat each other with kindness, compassion, and integrity. So, even though we didn’t have the same spiritual connection that Elvis and I felt, I still felt like Bruce and I were well matched in this respect.

  Bruce and I used to joke that we both got our degrees from Graceland: I earned a PhD in life from Graceland in Memphis, and he got his bachelor’s degree at Graceland College in Iowa. So we had those points of reference to entertain our sense of irony. And as for my Southern colloquialisms and Southern way of thinking and being, he adapted quite easily. He came to visit Memphis often and even guest-starred on Hee Haw in Nashville with me on many occasions. He could get down and hokey with the best of them. Plus, he liked to sing and dance, and was skilled at both, so he was happy to jump into the cornfield and do jokes or sing a song. He was incredibly supportive of my career and was not at all threatened by it.

  As my feelings for Bruce deepened, one of the greatest revelations was how comfortable I was being myself around him. His easygoing attitude and relaxed demeanor put me at ease from an early point in our relationship—he encouraged me to be the person that I’d blossomed into ever since I’d left Elvis. I had learned a thing or two in my years of willing subjugation to a king. I knew I had a tendency to be a little more submissive—make that a lot more submissive—than my mother had been in her marriage to my father. But I’d also discovered that there is great strength in tenderness—as Elvis used to say, “Never mistake my kindness for weakness.” I didn’t mind playing my part in the background, behind my more famous partners. I never had the ambition or the desire to be the center of attention. That being said, I never took kindly to being casually disregarded, either. There always has to be a healthy balance. Luckily, Bruce was always very respectful and caring, so I didn’t have to go out of my way to assert my growing independence and sense of self around him. I could just be that self. It felt safe to love him, and to let him love me, as we embarked on our life together.

  Bruce was also great about encouraging my songwriting, which I continued to pursue with David Briggs after we were no longer dating, and with a few other songwriters. Bruce was musical. He played a little bit of guitar and took piano lessons. When I recorded demos of the songs I was writing, Bruce was so sweet that he would take my tapes and play the songs in his car. Even though these demos never went anywhere and were never sold to anyone, Bruce knew all the words to all the songs I’d written. He also enjoyed the poems I sometimes wrote for him to commemorate a special occasion, such as his birthday or our anniversary.

  As the months flew by, and Chrystie neared her due date, she and Bruce seemed to be smoothly advancing their divorce proceedings. Although I tried to stay out of their business, I was always checking in to see how Chrystie was getting along. She had great support from her mom, her sisters, and her many friends.

  Although Bruce often came to Memphis with me, sometimes I traveled there without him to see my family. I was alone at my home in Memphis one night and was awakened abruptly by a phone call from Bruce’s father, Bill.

  “Well, Bruce has a healthy little baby girl! Chrystie and the baby are fine,” he said.

  I can’t explain how a
nd why I was so thrilled to hear that news. I jumped up out of bed with goose bumps and tears of joy and excitement flowing. As I hung up the phone, I was actually taken aback by my own response: Really? Why are you are jumping for joy and so happy about this birth? I acknowledged to myself. YOUR boyfriend’s ex-wife just had HIS baby and you’re celebrating? But I truly was. I couldn’t wait to meet and hold this new precious little being, who would become such a treasured part of my life.

  It would have been understandable to feel conflicted by the circumstances that surrounded the beginning of my relationship with Bruce, but I knew in my heart that all babies are blessings. I was happy to welcome this baby girl to the world and to my life. And as time reveals all things worth knowing, that gorgeous baby girl, Cassandra Lynn “Casey” Jenner, is one of the most beautiful, intelligent, kind, wonderful women I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. She is a light of love in our family, and I cannot, nor have I ever been able to, imagine my life without her. I am so very grateful that she was born—circumstances be damned.

  There were surprisingly few trying or difficult times with such a complicated family situation. I always felt that Chrystie was generous to share her darling children with us and leave them to my care during their regular times with their dad. She also deserves full credit for never trying to turn her children against their father or me.

  It certainly helped that all of us were in a good place in our own lives, and that made it easier to be accepting and loving with each other. Chrystie was very content having her two wonderful children close together in age. I was happy in my relationship with Bruce. Chrystie and I always got along and communicated well. I instantly loved Burt and Casey, as I do to this day. I think we all made the best of a challenging, but blessed, state of affairs. I believe life unfolded as it was meant to for all of us.