Dear Oscar, Edgar, and August,
The story of your parents meeting and falling in love may one day be as much an object of interest and curiosity to you as it will be a source of amusement and embarrassment. So, to save you the abject terror of having to engage with us face-to-face regarding the tale, let me give you the short version now.
We met at a local grocery store, Food Mart, in Newport in September 1985. I made no secret of the fact (get ready to blush or perhaps groan) that I found your father (then only really known as “Don”) cute. I was 17 years old and still in high school; he, being seven years my senior, opted to limit our relationship to one of friendship. We continued to work together and talk together and develop that friendship (a path I would highly recommend as you consider partnering with someone for life) for the next year.
I continued working with your father as I began college a year later. One night, as I was ringing a register, I was starting to come down with a cold. Your father came through my line with some cough drops, orange juice, and water, paid for them, and gave them to me. He then told me to take care of myself. And, of course, it was at that moment that I knew he loved me! (Oh, to be 18!)
At the Food Mart Christmas party on December 13, 1986, we sat together and talked then went out for a pizza with some of our co-workers. Your father gave me a ride home–and from that night forward we began our journey that brought us to you. We got married eight years later to the day–December 13, 1994 (which meant we got married, yes, on a Tuesday).
Recently a friend and coworker from Food Mart found and shared a photo from that Christmas party.
Stacy, that friend and coworker, is on the left. Another coworker, Beth, is on the right. And, yes, that is your 1980’s-clad mother–complete with hair that was not meant to move–in the middle. (Hey, it was the style!)
Whether you form your family biologically, through adoption, or in some other equally amazing way, your parents meeting and falling in love is often the start.
Thank you, Stacy, for sharing the photograph that marked the start of ours.