My wife and I attended our first same-sex commitment ceremony this past Saturday. It was a "commitment ceremony" because it was held in one of the many states that does not recognize marriage for same-sex couples. To those of us in attendance, however, we recognized it for what it really was - a declaration of love between two people and an exchange of vows that they will forsake others for the remaining days of their lives. Regardless of what others might think, this certainly sounds like the "M" word to me.
I've known these two people for only a couple of years. They are actually friends of one of my offspring. But, in the time I've known them, it has been apparent to me they truly, deeply, madly, love each other. As with most young couples, you can see it in their eyes. Or the way they look at each other when they think no one else is watching. Even the little hug or smile they give each other. Love doesn't need to be loud or full of PDA - it can be subtle too.
The ceremony was held in the backyard of the home they have purchased together and was attended by numerous friends. Sadly, only the family of one of the two partners was in attendance. From what I gather, the family of the other partner opted not to attend because they do not approve of their child's situation. To me this was a tragedy as this person's parents missed out on a day of love, fun, and good food and drink. But, again, in my opinion, The family is who missed out.
Honestly, I can say that had one of my children turned out to be Gay or Lesbian, I would've accepted it. And, as I have now gotten older - and, hopefully, wiser, I would've embraced both their diversity and life partner. When I was younger I don't know that I would have had that wisdom. Somehow in your youth, you are always 100% sure of how you feel about things. Your convictions are solid. But, at least with me, as I grew older and saw many things, I found that there are very few things in life that are black or white. Most things occur in varying shades of gray.
It takes a while to process certain things in your head and in your life. I suppose all new parents want their sons to grow up to be football heroes and then become President of the United States. They want their daughters to be beautiful and smart and have a good career AND provide many grandchildren. But, as a parent, watching your child grow into adult-hood, you start to realize the thing you most want for your children - more than anything else - is for them to be happy in life.
To reach that goal, as John Lennon wrote, "All you need is love".
Old Fart Mike
Monday, May 25, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Day 19?
According to our local meteorologists, yesterday marked the 18th consecutive day in which Tulsa had some amount of rainfall. As I explained to a friend recently, it's not like it is continuously raining, but, for the most part, the days have been dreary - with overcast skies, and, as the forecaster said, "some rainfall".
With our temperature expected to rise into the mid-eighties today and rain once again is forecast in the late afternoon, that means we are likely to have what is known around here as "Severe"weather. It also means - if it indeed occurs - we will reach 19 days in a row with some rain.
For the non-Oklahomans who just might read this, "Severe" weather could mean anything from a brutal series of thunderstorms to incredible amounts of hail - all the way up to tornadoes. It is, after all, that time of year. Hail here in Tulsa has caused me to have the roof of my house replaced twice in the 17 years I've live here. It also caused enough damage to one of the cars we own to have had to have significant body work done on it. While insurance covers the majority of the cost, there is still the "deductible" so it does tend to get a bit costly. Hail is sometimes described in size as from pea-size to upwards of softball size. The largest I've ever seen is about as big as a silver dollar, which, if you were dumb enough to stand out in the hail, could cause a pretty nasty bump or two on the old cranium.
When tornadoes are sighted, we have people around here that are known as "storm chasers". These folks get in their cars and follow these big storms, looking for tornadoes - often sighting them - and report to the local TV and radio stations. This has to be one of the craziest things that I've seen people do on a regular basis. (The other is "Noodling" which I will someday comment on) Thrill seekers they must be, I guess, as, oftentimes they get too close to the twisters and endanger themselves.
On the four major TV stations - affiliates of ABC, CBS, FOX, AND NBC - the weather forecasters commandeer the channels when severe weather enters the viewing area. Armed with Doppler, Vortex, and all the other goodies they have for tracking bad weather, including tornadoes, they sometimes take over an entire nights broadcasting. This is especially frustrating when, like right now - during sweeps week and finale time, the actual storms are some 60-70 miles away and are heading towards a different state.
While we really do need these forecasters to keep us informed, if this afternoon turns into day 19 - but with Severe Weather - I will be so thankful for Cable TV.
Old Fart Mike
With our temperature expected to rise into the mid-eighties today and rain once again is forecast in the late afternoon, that means we are likely to have what is known around here as "Severe"weather. It also means - if it indeed occurs - we will reach 19 days in a row with some rain.
For the non-Oklahomans who just might read this, "Severe" weather could mean anything from a brutal series of thunderstorms to incredible amounts of hail - all the way up to tornadoes. It is, after all, that time of year. Hail here in Tulsa has caused me to have the roof of my house replaced twice in the 17 years I've live here. It also caused enough damage to one of the cars we own to have had to have significant body work done on it. While insurance covers the majority of the cost, there is still the "deductible" so it does tend to get a bit costly. Hail is sometimes described in size as from pea-size to upwards of softball size. The largest I've ever seen is about as big as a silver dollar, which, if you were dumb enough to stand out in the hail, could cause a pretty nasty bump or two on the old cranium.
When tornadoes are sighted, we have people around here that are known as "storm chasers". These folks get in their cars and follow these big storms, looking for tornadoes - often sighting them - and report to the local TV and radio stations. This has to be one of the craziest things that I've seen people do on a regular basis. (The other is "Noodling" which I will someday comment on) Thrill seekers they must be, I guess, as, oftentimes they get too close to the twisters and endanger themselves.
On the four major TV stations - affiliates of ABC, CBS, FOX, AND NBC - the weather forecasters commandeer the channels when severe weather enters the viewing area. Armed with Doppler, Vortex, and all the other goodies they have for tracking bad weather, including tornadoes, they sometimes take over an entire nights broadcasting. This is especially frustrating when, like right now - during sweeps week and finale time, the actual storms are some 60-70 miles away and are heading towards a different state.
While we really do need these forecasters to keep us informed, if this afternoon turns into day 19 - but with Severe Weather - I will be so thankful for Cable TV.
Old Fart Mike
Friday, May 8, 2009
Mother's Day
This Sunday, of course, marks our annual celebration of Mother's Day. It is the one day a year when everyone honors the woman who brought them into the world and cared for them.
I am among the lucky ones, as I have had four remarkable women who, in some way, have fulfilled the role of Mother to me.
The first one is, of course, my mom - the wonderful woman who gave birth to me. Her name was Evelyn Kathryn (Anderson) Hughes. She was born August 17, 1911, and died August 19, 2000. Though small in stature (only a little over 5 foot tall), she was always a giant of a woman in the eyes of my two older brothers and I - as well as our father, her husband of nearly 50 years, who proceeded her in death by some 20 years.
She was gentle and understanding at all times. Never gruff nor a disciplinarian, leaving that to my dad. She was eternally proud of her three sons and praised them to others for even the slightest of accomplishments. She was quick to lavish us with these kind words too. Strong without being tough, she lived through many hardships, beginning with an absent father who abandoned his children when my mom, the oldest of three, was just a girl herself, and had to help her own mother with the mothering duties for her younger brothers.
She and my dad met, and married, during the Great Depression. My eldest brother was born shortly after FDR took office, and our other brother came 4 years later. During this time, as millions were unemployed, my dad was no exception - nor was my Mom's mother, who moved in with my parents to help with the children, as both of my parents sought work as they could get it.
As the U.S. entered WWII, my dad, caught up, like so many American men in fervent Patriotism, enlisted in the Marines, and my mom was left to care for two growing boys. He returned in 1945, shell-shocked and a mess. I was born in 1946. Through it all, my mom kept the family intact, and kept them all from falling into despair.
After the death of his mother in early 1954, my dad accepted a job in California, and, in the middle of the night, left a note telling my mom he would send for us after he had saved enough money. How she kept her sanity though this is a mystery to me.
True to his word, just a few months later, my dad sent money for train tickets for us, including my grandmother, to move to California. As a 7 year-old boy, I still remember boarding that train - The El Capitan - with my Gram and Mom in Chicago, and arriving some three days later in Pasadena.
My mom was someone who I could talk to - more so than my dad. She was often perceptive, knowing when something was bothering me. The last time I saw her alive was on Mother's Day in 2000. She was in a convalescent home. Stripped of most of her dignity, dying of cancer. She was incredibly frail, and, having had one leg amputated, was down to about 78 pounds. When she died some three months later, I didn't cry. I was happy that she was through suffering. She didn't deserve what cancer had done to her, and I had been praying for God to bring her home. I still miss her, and still think of her almost every day - especially when something is troubling me. I fear I didn't tell her often enough how much I loved her.
The next woman who provided "Mothering" to me was my mom's mother - "Gram". Her name was Kathryn Cecilia (Molter) Anderson. She was born August 20, 1890 and passed January 20, 1980. In her later years - in California, where she moved with us in 1954 - nobody she met knew she had a name other than Gram. Everyone called her that. The friends my brothers and I brought home, our wives, our children, EVERYBODY.
My dad always joked that Gram "came for a short visit to help with the baby (me) and hasn't left yet. She'd just laugh, as she always did. This woman, even smaller than my mom, was an incredibly good-natured woman. Laughing, full of life, a tremendous sense of humor - who could laugh at herself, and trade ribald jokes with the best of them. Once you met Gram,you were a friend for life.
I loved her so much and was proud to bring friends home for them to meet her. She would, religiously get up with me every morning, feed me breakfast before I went to school, and she - when I was a youngster, would make me lunch as I came home from playing in the summer. She did most of the laundry and cooking in the house as my mom worked. She was a treat.
Gram suffered a stroke right in front of my bride and I when we were visiting one year.
In fact, my wife caught her as she was going down. Unfortunately we had to leave a day or two later. That stroke was to signal Gram's downfall.
The last time I saw Gram was also at a "Convalescent" home. Again, my wife and I were visiting California and accompanied my mom to visit Gram. As we approached Gram lying in her bed, her face lit up momentarily. Then, it went mostly blank, clouded over by a lack of recognition for who I was. In her room I tried to talk to her for awhile, looking over at my mom and my wife anxiously before excusing myself to go to the bathroom.
I didn't need to use the restroom. Truth be told, I just had to leave because I couldn't fight back the tears anymore. I went out to my car and cried. Long and hard. Gram, who came to help my mom care for me when I was born and never left, didn't know who I was. Seeing her lost like this broke my heart. My wife had to drive us back to my parent's house. I will never forget the many laughs Gram and I shared together. It is how I want to remember her. Not the vacant stare I got when I tried to talk to the woman who helped raise me.
The third woman in my life who helped raise me is my sister in law, Joanne. She is only 10 years older than me - but, in many ways that 10 years was among the most formative. My brother John, my hero, married Joanne Liberty when they were both at the tender age of 21. That means, of course, that I was only 11.
As I indicated, John is my hero. As a little boy, John used to take me and buy me comic books and ice cream cones. As I grew older, he took me to baseball and football games, including my first major league and NFL games. So many older brothers - especially ones 10 years older - just ignore, or ditch the kid brother. He didn't. So, when he married Joanne, I was a bit skeptical of how she might affect our relationship.
Instead, I gained a sister. A friend. Another Mother. Joanne always encouraged John to spend time with me - AND even invited me over. I remember, at around 12 or so, going over to their very first house and helping her with weeding in the yard. I was rewarded with lunch, lemonade, and 50 cents. Doesn't sound like much but it was then. And it cemented my relationship with her.
Through the years, Joanne would always welcome me to their home, even when she had a houseful of their own children. She'd take care of my needs just as she would her own 4 kids - my nephews. She even approved of naming me Godfather to their second born child. I was 12 at the time. I still feel honored. There were times during my teens and early twenties when I needed a place to crash. It was always at John and Joanne's.
When I visit California, as I do once or twice a year, I stay with them. Usually, I have laundry to do. When I get ready to do it - something I do here at my home in Tulsa, for me and my bride - She won't let me do it, she does. She cooks full meals for me, and has all of her children, their families, and other family members over for Big Sunday dinners to Greet Uncle Mike. All because she loves me like another son. The feeling is mutual.
The last "Mother" in my life is my bride. Most men won't admit it, but they need mothering from the time they are born until the day they die. We are babies in need of moms throughout our lives. Fortunately, women know this inherently and for the most part, just do it.
For 38 years now, my bride has not only been a mom to our children - and a damn good one - but she has nurtured me too. She has babied me when I demanded it; stroked me ego when I needed it; stood behind me even when I was wrong; stood by me, both in sickness and in health - with a big emphasis on the sickness; and loved me, warts and all.
I've missed countless dinners, been out of town too often, worked too late and on Saturdays and Sundays, and left her to do the hard work of raising the kids to become the fine adults they are now.
Now, since I am unable to work, that task has fallen on her too. It's just another thing that Mom's do as they continue to raise their children. She is just as remarkable - probably even more so - than the other three mentioned here, because she has had to deal with me as an adult. I was much easier to live with when I was a child, or even a teen or young adult.
Yet, she is still completing the Mother task on me. I know she, like the other three, have all provided their significant mothering skills to me, for some inexplicable reason, because they love me.
While I have serious flaws, I know that whatever good I have in me has been as a result of the influence of these four remarkable women.
Happy Mother's Day!
Old Fart Mike
I am among the lucky ones, as I have had four remarkable women who, in some way, have fulfilled the role of Mother to me.
The first one is, of course, my mom - the wonderful woman who gave birth to me. Her name was Evelyn Kathryn (Anderson) Hughes. She was born August 17, 1911, and died August 19, 2000. Though small in stature (only a little over 5 foot tall), she was always a giant of a woman in the eyes of my two older brothers and I - as well as our father, her husband of nearly 50 years, who proceeded her in death by some 20 years.
She was gentle and understanding at all times. Never gruff nor a disciplinarian, leaving that to my dad. She was eternally proud of her three sons and praised them to others for even the slightest of accomplishments. She was quick to lavish us with these kind words too. Strong without being tough, she lived through many hardships, beginning with an absent father who abandoned his children when my mom, the oldest of three, was just a girl herself, and had to help her own mother with the mothering duties for her younger brothers.
She and my dad met, and married, during the Great Depression. My eldest brother was born shortly after FDR took office, and our other brother came 4 years later. During this time, as millions were unemployed, my dad was no exception - nor was my Mom's mother, who moved in with my parents to help with the children, as both of my parents sought work as they could get it.
As the U.S. entered WWII, my dad, caught up, like so many American men in fervent Patriotism, enlisted in the Marines, and my mom was left to care for two growing boys. He returned in 1945, shell-shocked and a mess. I was born in 1946. Through it all, my mom kept the family intact, and kept them all from falling into despair.
After the death of his mother in early 1954, my dad accepted a job in California, and, in the middle of the night, left a note telling my mom he would send for us after he had saved enough money. How she kept her sanity though this is a mystery to me.
True to his word, just a few months later, my dad sent money for train tickets for us, including my grandmother, to move to California. As a 7 year-old boy, I still remember boarding that train - The El Capitan - with my Gram and Mom in Chicago, and arriving some three days later in Pasadena.
My mom was someone who I could talk to - more so than my dad. She was often perceptive, knowing when something was bothering me. The last time I saw her alive was on Mother's Day in 2000. She was in a convalescent home. Stripped of most of her dignity, dying of cancer. She was incredibly frail, and, having had one leg amputated, was down to about 78 pounds. When she died some three months later, I didn't cry. I was happy that she was through suffering. She didn't deserve what cancer had done to her, and I had been praying for God to bring her home. I still miss her, and still think of her almost every day - especially when something is troubling me. I fear I didn't tell her often enough how much I loved her.
The next woman who provided "Mothering" to me was my mom's mother - "Gram". Her name was Kathryn Cecilia (Molter) Anderson. She was born August 20, 1890 and passed January 20, 1980. In her later years - in California, where she moved with us in 1954 - nobody she met knew she had a name other than Gram. Everyone called her that. The friends my brothers and I brought home, our wives, our children, EVERYBODY.
My dad always joked that Gram "came for a short visit to help with the baby (me) and hasn't left yet. She'd just laugh, as she always did. This woman, even smaller than my mom, was an incredibly good-natured woman. Laughing, full of life, a tremendous sense of humor - who could laugh at herself, and trade ribald jokes with the best of them. Once you met Gram,you were a friend for life.
I loved her so much and was proud to bring friends home for them to meet her. She would, religiously get up with me every morning, feed me breakfast before I went to school, and she - when I was a youngster, would make me lunch as I came home from playing in the summer. She did most of the laundry and cooking in the house as my mom worked. She was a treat.
Gram suffered a stroke right in front of my bride and I when we were visiting one year.
In fact, my wife caught her as she was going down. Unfortunately we had to leave a day or two later. That stroke was to signal Gram's downfall.
The last time I saw Gram was also at a "Convalescent" home. Again, my wife and I were visiting California and accompanied my mom to visit Gram. As we approached Gram lying in her bed, her face lit up momentarily. Then, it went mostly blank, clouded over by a lack of recognition for who I was. In her room I tried to talk to her for awhile, looking over at my mom and my wife anxiously before excusing myself to go to the bathroom.
I didn't need to use the restroom. Truth be told, I just had to leave because I couldn't fight back the tears anymore. I went out to my car and cried. Long and hard. Gram, who came to help my mom care for me when I was born and never left, didn't know who I was. Seeing her lost like this broke my heart. My wife had to drive us back to my parent's house. I will never forget the many laughs Gram and I shared together. It is how I want to remember her. Not the vacant stare I got when I tried to talk to the woman who helped raise me.
The third woman in my life who helped raise me is my sister in law, Joanne. She is only 10 years older than me - but, in many ways that 10 years was among the most formative. My brother John, my hero, married Joanne Liberty when they were both at the tender age of 21. That means, of course, that I was only 11.
As I indicated, John is my hero. As a little boy, John used to take me and buy me comic books and ice cream cones. As I grew older, he took me to baseball and football games, including my first major league and NFL games. So many older brothers - especially ones 10 years older - just ignore, or ditch the kid brother. He didn't. So, when he married Joanne, I was a bit skeptical of how she might affect our relationship.
Instead, I gained a sister. A friend. Another Mother. Joanne always encouraged John to spend time with me - AND even invited me over. I remember, at around 12 or so, going over to their very first house and helping her with weeding in the yard. I was rewarded with lunch, lemonade, and 50 cents. Doesn't sound like much but it was then. And it cemented my relationship with her.
Through the years, Joanne would always welcome me to their home, even when she had a houseful of their own children. She'd take care of my needs just as she would her own 4 kids - my nephews. She even approved of naming me Godfather to their second born child. I was 12 at the time. I still feel honored. There were times during my teens and early twenties when I needed a place to crash. It was always at John and Joanne's.
When I visit California, as I do once or twice a year, I stay with them. Usually, I have laundry to do. When I get ready to do it - something I do here at my home in Tulsa, for me and my bride - She won't let me do it, she does. She cooks full meals for me, and has all of her children, their families, and other family members over for Big Sunday dinners to Greet Uncle Mike. All because she loves me like another son. The feeling is mutual.
The last "Mother" in my life is my bride. Most men won't admit it, but they need mothering from the time they are born until the day they die. We are babies in need of moms throughout our lives. Fortunately, women know this inherently and for the most part, just do it.
For 38 years now, my bride has not only been a mom to our children - and a damn good one - but she has nurtured me too. She has babied me when I demanded it; stroked me ego when I needed it; stood behind me even when I was wrong; stood by me, both in sickness and in health - with a big emphasis on the sickness; and loved me, warts and all.
I've missed countless dinners, been out of town too often, worked too late and on Saturdays and Sundays, and left her to do the hard work of raising the kids to become the fine adults they are now.
Now, since I am unable to work, that task has fallen on her too. It's just another thing that Mom's do as they continue to raise their children. She is just as remarkable - probably even more so - than the other three mentioned here, because she has had to deal with me as an adult. I was much easier to live with when I was a child, or even a teen or young adult.
Yet, she is still completing the Mother task on me. I know she, like the other three, have all provided their significant mothering skills to me, for some inexplicable reason, because they love me.
While I have serious flaws, I know that whatever good I have in me has been as a result of the influence of these four remarkable women.
Happy Mother's Day!
Old Fart Mike
Thursday, May 7, 2009
HATE
In the last couple of weeks I've received some e-mails from long time friends that were filled with such hate for our new President it actually startled me. While his predecessor certainly caused my disdain like no other, I purposely avoided sending nasty-grams to people that I knew were staunch Republicans. Better to keep friendships than alienate people that I otherwise love.
I confess, however, that I did pass on newspaper articles and jokes about W. to persons of like mind. However, the articles were fact-based, and the jokes mostly dealt with his bumbling of the English language. The stuff I received about Obama - both recently, and going back to the early stages of his campaign for the Presidency - are filled with such vitriol and hate it is scary.
The beginning of these e-mails - way back when - dealt with the false rumors that he was Muslim; that he was sworn in using the Quran; that he was endorsed by the leader of the KKK; that he was financed by Hugo Chavez; that he "Urged citizens to change the greatest Nation in the world"; that the Book of Revelation described someone as having the characteristics of Obama; that Obama does not qualify as a natural born citizen; That he "blew off" soldiers during a trip to Afghanistan; and many others that were, of course, proven totally false.
Lately, his stances on bailouts for banks - initiated by President Bush; lies about the details of his orders regarding action in saving Captain Phillips during the Somali Pirate crisis; his stance on the legalization of marijuana use (he's against it); and, his shaking hands with Hugo Chavez are being blasted. Even his orders stopping torture are seen by many to be putting the United States in a weak position.
In a recent Newsweek magazine, I read that the Klu Klux Klan membership is rising in great numbers since his election. Rush Limbaugh - and others - call for him to fail.
And my friends - devout Christians, I might add - send such hate-filled e-mails about President Obama that I long for the days when we were all much more innocent and didn't care so much. Back then we didn't hate.
Old Fart Mike
I confess, however, that I did pass on newspaper articles and jokes about W. to persons of like mind. However, the articles were fact-based, and the jokes mostly dealt with his bumbling of the English language. The stuff I received about Obama - both recently, and going back to the early stages of his campaign for the Presidency - are filled with such vitriol and hate it is scary.
The beginning of these e-mails - way back when - dealt with the false rumors that he was Muslim; that he was sworn in using the Quran; that he was endorsed by the leader of the KKK; that he was financed by Hugo Chavez; that he "Urged citizens to change the greatest Nation in the world"; that the Book of Revelation described someone as having the characteristics of Obama; that Obama does not qualify as a natural born citizen; That he "blew off" soldiers during a trip to Afghanistan; and many others that were, of course, proven totally false.
Lately, his stances on bailouts for banks - initiated by President Bush; lies about the details of his orders regarding action in saving Captain Phillips during the Somali Pirate crisis; his stance on the legalization of marijuana use (he's against it); and, his shaking hands with Hugo Chavez are being blasted. Even his orders stopping torture are seen by many to be putting the United States in a weak position.
In a recent Newsweek magazine, I read that the Klu Klux Klan membership is rising in great numbers since his election. Rush Limbaugh - and others - call for him to fail.
And my friends - devout Christians, I might add - send such hate-filled e-mails about President Obama that I long for the days when we were all much more innocent and didn't care so much. Back then we didn't hate.
Old Fart Mike
Friday, May 1, 2009
38 Special
Sounds like this is going to be about a gun, doesn't it? A revolver, made by Smith & Wesson. Nope. Not about an old Rock Group either. What is refers to is The Celebration in my life Today - May 1st, 2009.
38 years ago, on May 1, 1971, my bride actually did me the honor of becoming my bride. I still call her that a lot - "My Bride" that is. Many of my family and friends know this, and I've overheard some of my long term friends tell others they thought it was "cute". Don't know about that, but somehow, the wonderful woman who consented to marry me all those years ago deserves to be called more than "Wife" or "spouse". She's been, and is, so many things in my life. Girlfriend. Lover. Best Friend. Mother. Partner. Those are just a few applicable titles. So, Bride is what I'll refer to her as in this little ditty.
We met on a frigid January night in 1970. I had just arrived in Omaha from Los Angeles. I had been asked to help with a new office of our company. My Bride was working that evening. She marvels at the fact that I can tell her what she was wearing that night, and where she was when I first saw her.
Long story short, after a few months, we began the ritual called "Dating". Unfortunately for us, there was a policy of no fraternization, so, once our dating was outed, we were out of jobs. She came with me back to California, my home state, over the objection of her parents. We only stayed for a few months before I landed a job in St. Louis.
Time did move rather quickly, and she accepted my proposal. So, as stated earlier, we married on May 1st, 1971. From there, I asked her to do all sorts of things as I advanced my career. We moved to Florida first. Then, shortly - only a couple months - after the birth of our first child, we moved to California. More moves came over the years. Denver. Vail. Hilton Head Island. Denver again. Salt Lake City. Houston. And finally, Tulsa. Through it all, she never once complained, she simply asked "When do you have to be there?"
When we first were married, we talked about growing old together, and she had said we needed to be friends, first and foremost. As usual, her wisdom was right on. Today, our kids are raised as good adults - mostly because of her - and now they have moved on, living their own lives, it is back to just the two of us.
We are still friends. And we are growing old together. And, finally, 38 is special because I am fortunate to be with the Love of my Life - My Bride.
Happy Anniversary - I Love You.
Old Fart Mike (a.k.a Your Boyfriend)
38 years ago, on May 1, 1971, my bride actually did me the honor of becoming my bride. I still call her that a lot - "My Bride" that is. Many of my family and friends know this, and I've overheard some of my long term friends tell others they thought it was "cute". Don't know about that, but somehow, the wonderful woman who consented to marry me all those years ago deserves to be called more than "Wife" or "spouse". She's been, and is, so many things in my life. Girlfriend. Lover. Best Friend. Mother. Partner. Those are just a few applicable titles. So, Bride is what I'll refer to her as in this little ditty.
We met on a frigid January night in 1970. I had just arrived in Omaha from Los Angeles. I had been asked to help with a new office of our company. My Bride was working that evening. She marvels at the fact that I can tell her what she was wearing that night, and where she was when I first saw her.
Long story short, after a few months, we began the ritual called "Dating". Unfortunately for us, there was a policy of no fraternization, so, once our dating was outed, we were out of jobs. She came with me back to California, my home state, over the objection of her parents. We only stayed for a few months before I landed a job in St. Louis.
Time did move rather quickly, and she accepted my proposal. So, as stated earlier, we married on May 1st, 1971. From there, I asked her to do all sorts of things as I advanced my career. We moved to Florida first. Then, shortly - only a couple months - after the birth of our first child, we moved to California. More moves came over the years. Denver. Vail. Hilton Head Island. Denver again. Salt Lake City. Houston. And finally, Tulsa. Through it all, she never once complained, she simply asked "When do you have to be there?"
When we first were married, we talked about growing old together, and she had said we needed to be friends, first and foremost. As usual, her wisdom was right on. Today, our kids are raised as good adults - mostly because of her - and now they have moved on, living their own lives, it is back to just the two of us.
We are still friends. And we are growing old together. And, finally, 38 is special because I am fortunate to be with the Love of my Life - My Bride.
Happy Anniversary - I Love You.
Old Fart Mike (a.k.a Your Boyfriend)
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