My sister Mary Ann came to me with an idea just before my 18th birthday. My birthday gift from her would be a completely arranged blind date. All I had to do was be willing. My sister and her boyfriend would arrange for this blind date to be a double date to the circus that was playing in the Metro area. According to their plan, I would not meet my date until he arrived at my home on my eighteenth birthday.
I am now embarrassed to admit that my questions about my blind date were about as shallow as a could be. You see these questions were purely based on his physical appearance and had little to do with his intellect or nature.
“What does he look like?” I wanted to know.
“He is tall and very good looking.” my sister explained.
Now this sounded promising to me. I had just purchased a pair of 3 suede high heels with a metal stud décor, and I was relived to find out he was a tall guy so I could easily wear my new shoes without towering over my date’s head. Looking back at this philosophy and qualifying a date by his height or my shoes seems ridiculous to me now, but at that time it was paramount.
“How tall?” I asked her.
She surprised me when she said that he was 6’5” tall. Yep, this could be good because I could easily wear those new high heels. And this was important because I also had a new wool vest and hot pants combination outfit. The hotpants were wool plaid and they matched to my new high heeled shoes. I am so sorry that no photograph seems to exist of me in this smoking hot outfit.
Funny the things we choose to remember through the decades, but those hot pants and those shoes were one of my finest “drop the mic” looks. My polished look had also been achieved by wearing curlers to bed the night before so that my long blond hair would wave with body and shine.
My parents were there to get the door when the doorbell rang on the evening of our date. My sister and her date greeted him into our home. All I had to do was walk down the stairs and meet him in the foyer. Now, as I imagined myself to be somewhat of a super model in the ultimate outfit, I tried to make my descent down the stairs a picture-perfect moment. I wanted to put all my theater and drama training into good use. Everyone was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. That also means that everyone was there to see me trip on the last step and make a small falling motion. I did not fall down completely because my blind date caught me as he broke my fall with his arms outstretched.
When I looked at him, he was smiling down at me. He looked like a Greek god. He was handsome beyond my wildest dreams. He had perfect dark hair and the brownest of eyes. His physique was athletic and trim. And he was certainly tall. Even in my suede heels I only came to his shoulder height. He released me from his arms and warmly joked, “Wow, I guess you really fell for me.”
The date was perfect. We enjoyed the circus and all the fun things that could accompany such a date including vendor snack foods. I don’t even remember if we did much talking. I had literally fallen in love with him at first sight. I was giddy with joy. Could this possibly be real?
There were more dates in our future and getting to know him only secured my belief that I was truly in love with the perfect person.
We were young. I still had college ahead of me and he would join the Air Force. We made it through those years writing long love letters and saving money for long distance calls. Our love flourished. He professed his love for me, and I was absolutely gone on him. I traveled to Andrews Air Force Base and he traveled to my college for visits as often as we could arrange it.
About 5 years after we met, we planned our wedding. Jack became my husband. We had a magical honeymoon to Stratford, Ontario. We ate in fancy restaurants and attended the Shakespeare theater there. We held hands, kissed, and walked through parks and the city. I was charmed. For years after that honeymoon, we would recall moments of joyfulness that we shared.
The years progressed and our first child arrived nearly nine years after we had first met. Our daughter arrived and we became a family of our own. We were such good friends and parents.
As our daughter grew, I also found a dream job working in management for a large Ann Arbor hotel. My career was going strong and so it seemed a good time for Jack to go to school on the GI bill and complete college too.
We started to argue. We argued a lot. I don’t even know exactly what those fights were about anymore. We were not perfect, he was not perfect, and I was not perfect.
19 years after we first met, we had a second child, our son. All of what I wanted was in my happy orbit. My beautiful children, my handsome husband, and a lovely house. I would make sure that the arguing stopped. I made it my career to try and be pleasing and lighthearted when we were together. I tried not to engage when he criticized me. I was sure it would all be fine.
But it came undone. I just had not noticed that he had become increasingly unhappy. When he told me that the marriage was over it was a complete shock. I was sucker punched, the rug was pulled out from me, I hit a brick wall and the idea of divorce was a surprise to me. How could this have happened to us?
Later, I would learn that love is not always enough to keep a marriage together. My love was not enough.
I was terrified about becoming a single mother to a toddler and a teenager. I begged him. I cried and pleaded. And he left me. He left the family home with our children. We divorced. Before long at all I heard that he had married his co-worker.
I still loved him. He was married to someone else.
Years have gone by. There were some new love affairs after my marriage, but I never remarried. When I think of him, I still recall that deep love we once shared so easily and my heart is sad that we did not make it. I wish him well. I am ok. This February of 2021, I will turn 67 years old. It was 49 years ago that I fell for him. I do not regret that love story. I also no longer regret that he left because I have had a full vibrant life. I just wish that I could still wear those smokin’ hotpants and I do regret having no photo of that youthful woman I once was as my eyes looked up with adoration to that man who stole my heart.