One of the first presents I gave my husband was a surfboard. He wanted one really badly. Surfing was a point of contention in his first marriage. I knew this because, more than several times during those first few years, he bristled with defensiveness at the possibility of anyone (me) encroaching on his Saturday morning surf time. I reassured him that I supported his independence, and the hobby that I knew symbolized so much more than a hobby for him, but no matter how many times I said it, that old wound would resurface.