Fifty-six years ago today these two crazy kids said “We do.” A little over a year later, I was born and within 7 years, there were four of us kids. When I was growing up, my dad took me to the library, organized family baseball games and told us about this creature called a “Glibby-Glurb.” (Never seen one? That’s because they’re very fast.) My mom made each one of us feel like we were her favorite, let us make couch cushion forts, wrote warm letters in her perfect Palmer penmanship (and still does) and did this wah-wah-wah thing with her lips whenever she put on her Pink Flamingo lipstick. This last feat was something I have never mastered.
A few years ago, I drove to a family reunion in Montana with my folks. I say “drove” figuratively because my dad was behind the wheel the entire trip, just as he always had been when we were growing up. And, just as I had when I was little, I pretended to doze in the back seat so I could listen to the comforting chatter of two people who still had things to talk about after 56 years.