There is a tree in our yard that blooms every year during my mom and dad’s anniversary. The petals are a luminous white that sprout from the golden center. The enormous, bright green leaves grow in such a magnitude that they canvas the sky. And the tree stands firmly in the center of our yard embracing our home in beauty. Like this tree, my parent’s love is radiant beyond colors imaginable that continues to grow steadily every day.
The first time my parents met was at the local bar where my mom was bartending. Although they had seen each other around (which would be kind of difficult not to in a town of 600 people), their first conversation wasn’t until Christmas when my mom was showing off her new hiking boots to my dad, as their friends crowded the Pacman table. It wouldn’t be until three years later that my mom would agree to go on date with my dad.
On their first date, my dad took my mom to a fancy restaurant in his yellow two-door Plymouth (that he proudly described). My dad watched a PBS special on wine the week before, so he had the waiter pour him a glass of wine that he proceeded to swirl and take a small sip before approving and offering my impressed mother a glass as well. After which they ventured to the salad bar where my dad got maybe five pieces of lettuce, while my mom’s plate was piled five feet tall with every topping available. Initially, my mom said she was slightly embarrassed but quickly decided that she simply did not care because she was going to enjoy her free fancy salad.
Fast forward, almost four years of dating to the point my mom was convinced my dad was never going to ask her to marry him. Which would explain why my dad had to repeat, “Will you marry me?” four times because my mom kept saying, “Are you serious!?” My dad said he was getting a little nervous because she still hadn’t said yes. After my mom finally said yes, my dad drove her to the jewelry store with the $500 dollars in his pocket he had been saving up and bought her the wedding ring she picked out. And 355 days later, on June 20, 1992, my parents got married.
Afterward, my mom and dad moved into a little house hidden deep in the country after discovering the realtor's sign practically buried under the weeds. The remodeling took a total of seven years as they built it paycheck by paycheck and room by room. The first months of living in their new home there was only a bed, a chair and a box with a TV on it -- that was it.
During the course of developing their forever home they had to take showers with a garden hose strategically strung together above the tub, they didn’t have a real kitchen so they had to wash the dishes in the bathtub (at which point my mom was very pregnant and had to wash the dishes on her hands knees leaning over the tub) and there was a giant hole in the kitchen wall just days before my mom went into labor. That home was built around our growing little family by my dad’s own two hands.
It wasn’t long until the constant sheetrock dust faded and the construction finished and the little house at the end of the valley became a home to two loving parents and two rambunctious little girls. The time flew by of jumping into dad’s arms when he returned from work, sneaking spoonfuls of chocolate chip cookie dough when mom wasn’t looking and the countless hugs and ‘I love you’s.’
My parents still live in their brown home tucked between the bluffs with the white sparkling tree planted in the yard. While they are now empty nesters, my mom said the adjustment never affected them much because throughout their entire marriage they never stopped dating. They spend even more time going on cute dates, surprising the other with flowers and holding hands as they stroll down the road. My parents have been together for 31 years and still, I've never seen two people more in love than my mom and dad.
