May 24th

Thirty two years ago today my parents stood in the front yard of my grandparents’ house, surrounded by friends and family. The picture they took is so familiar to me that I could tell exactly what is in it even though the closest copy is 500 miles away: my father next to his cousin Gerard, sporting matching brown suits and mustaches, my mother holding a bouquet with trailing ribbons that matched my aunt’s yellow dress.

They met through a mutual friend, who introduced them properly, last names and all. Since my mother’s last name was long and complicated (as all good German last names should be) and my father’s could be used as a compliment when parting, “We both thought, ‘What a weird last name,’” my mother recalled recently.

For one of their dates, they rode my father’s motorcycle out to one of the nearby lakes. My mother has never been a motorcycle fan, so she wasn’t as impressed as my father had certainly hoped she would be when he leaned back and crossed his ankles over the handlebars as they cruised down the road. He still does things just to get a rise out of her, usually much less dangerous, and it’s always amusing to see the ornery grin on his face and hear my mother’s half outraged, half amused exclamation: “Dear!"

My father has never been one for insanely grand romantic gestures, no violins or grand pianos, he has his own way of being romantic. My brothers and I love the story of the random and silly romantic gesture he made while walking down the mall near the capitol building in Lincoln. In the three decades since, many of the fountains that decorated the mall have been removed, replaced by an expanse of grass or shrubbery and the occasional piece of art. But in those days there were still quite a few, and while strolling past one, my father surprised my mother by sweeping her up into his arms and leaping into it, shoving her feet into one of the jets of water. “What did you do?” my brothers and I asked my mother once. “Screamed,” she replied, laughing. “I was more worried about my purse getting wet."

No one goes through life thinking, “okay, now I will show my kids what it means to be married,” they just live. The steadfastness and support through the conflicts of life that my parents demonstrated with their lives is what I hope to emulate in my own marriage. And maybe someday, my kids will say the same thing about my husband and I.

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad. I love you both so much; thank you for everything.