How We Met

It occurred to me that the time might come when perhaps our grandchildren might like to know how their D'ma and Poppy met, so here's the tale:

Way, way back in the dim mists of time (the summer of 1977), I had just graduated from college, and had recently landed my first job in New York City.  Because I was young and poor, I was still living at my father's house in Connecticut, and needed to find a cheap vehicle that could deliver me to the Fairfield train station for the daily commute.

After looking at a lot of used cars, I set off one hot, muggy July day to check out yet another vehicle that looked promising.  It was quite a long way away, and it was very hot and humid.  The guy selling this particular piece of junk was a real lecherous jerk, the car didn't remotely resemble the way it was described in the ad, and I was consequently in a rather foul mood by the time I returned.  As I was about to pull into the driveway (I had borrowed my stepmother's enormous Buick Riviera), I realized there was a great big old Chevy panel truck taking up all the available parking space, which meant that I had to park in the street.  (More annoyance!)

Sitting on the front porch, drinking beer and playing backgammon were my stepbrother Sam and a smiling, blond young man I'd never seen before.  Sam introduced me to his old friend Richard who had just returned from Philadelphia after graduating from the University of Pennsylvania.  Because I was so grouchy, I just mumbled "hello" and stomped indoors.

About an hour later, my stepmother told me dinner was almost ready, and why didn't I ask that "nice boy" if he wanted to eat with us?  This did not make me at all happy.  "Great.  Now I'm going to have to be nice to this guy I don't even know, and it's hot, and I'm in a filthy mood, and I can't be bothered with all this!"

I was hardly the most charming or loquacious dinner companion that evening, but for some reason that "nice boy" kept showing up over the next several weekends, and I found myself spending a lot of time with him ... the rest, as they say, is history!

Here we are in 1977 ... and yes, I'm ashamed to say that is a cigarette in my hand ...