I met the one I’d always love sixty-four years ago today, the day of my birth. Our families were friends and his mother was there to help out when I was born. Two and a half years old and more experienced, he wisely waited for me to grow up a little before showing interest in me. I was pre-occupied with what I’d experienced earlier in the day and had no time for him, possibly leading him to think I was playing hard to get. From time to time, we’d be thrown together over the years, at holidays, school events, community, church, and family visits. He was pleasant to me. I liked him, but had no idea he held a special interest in me. The summer I was seventeen, he’d gotten a car and starting calling regularly. My sister Phyllis thought he liked her, so I made a point of getting out of their way when he came to visit. All socializing was done in the living room in the midst of a large boisterous family with the TV at full blast, so there was no question of privacy. We could take a guest to the snack bar in the dining room if we wanted, but we were still in the middle of things. Coincidentally, my fourteen-year-old brother, Bill, really admired and enjoyed Bud, too, so he thought he was there to see him.
After a week or so of nightly visits to Phyllis and Bill, I was surprised to get a call from Bud, asking me out. I probably stammered a bit, since I thought he was interested in Phyllis. I accepted, and that was it. We were married two years later. Forty-four years and two children later, October 27, 2014, we celebrate our sixty-fourth anniversary together. We’ve had the best life anyone could ever have.