My parents celebrated their 64th wedding anniversary last month. They’ve been married, I realize, longer than many people live.
Dad was 26 when they got married; Mom was 24. Their wedding was held at First Methodist Church, Pittsfield, Mass. where they’d met as members of the Young Adult Fellowship. Both were new in town and employed by General Electric. Dad was a lifelong Methodist; Mom was brought up as a Lutheran.
Dad says Mom joined the Methodist fellowship because (hahaha) that’s where all the young GE engineers were. Mom said she started going there because one of her friends did.
Their church group decided to put on a play: “Life with Father.” Dad, always gregarious, had a leading part in the play. Mom, a born introvert, was the assistant stage manager.
But it was at a church-group party held at someone’s home that Dad finally figured out a way to approach Mom. Dad went into the kitchen to get something to drink and there was Mom, quietly sitting at a table by herself and playing with a small dog – a dachshund. Well, Dad has always loved dogs, too, so it was second nature for him to comment about the dog and play with it. Somehow, that turned into Mom offering to teach Dad how to ski. (Dad had missed the down-hill skiing craze – think of the movie “White Christmas” – because he was in China during World War Two.) Dad took her up on the offer.
Mom was impressed that Dad didn’t mind having a woman teach him how to ski. He was a good sport, she said, and laughed at himself when he fell.
They were engaged in May and married that September – and have been happily together ever since.
As you can imagine, when I count my blessings, they are at the top of the list. I am grateful they are my parents, and grateful for every day I have with them.