Da-aaad!

We are just entering this phase-- the one where we embarrass our children. Mostly, it's the daughter who you can hear say this in the way only pre-teen girls can. "Da-aaad!" It makes me remember when my own dad just would not tone it down in the name of my own hoped-for coolness. Despite my repeated admonishments and requests to not do this or not wear that, dad would just grin and forge on. I remember walking through the local mall with a friend, my dad, and her grandfather. Both men were sights to behold. Her grandpa's pants drooped a little too low- way before drooping pants were cool. To be clear, no sporty Joe Boxers were peeking out. My dad had a five inch single cuff on his dark blue Wrangler jeans (of course they weren't cool Levi's). If he moved just right or turned too quickly, you might notice a kernel or two of corn flying out from this elegant cuff. Neither man could hear well so the shouting that ensewed would have been comical had my friend and I not been so hyper-aware of how completely un-cool these two guys were. If memory serves correctly, both men also sported tootpicks just to the left of their front teeth. My friend and I were trying to walk far ahead or behind them and we may have even appeared to be mocking them. Her grandma caught us and gave us a lecture that surely had the, "These are good men. They take care of you girls. Show them some respect. Kids these days...blah blah blah" in it. Dad just grinned. Again.

As I grew older, more embarassment would ensue. The big grin on my dad's face when he brought home a 1972 two-door, sky blue Oldsmobile mystified me. That car was larger than my first dorm room. Later I would concede that despite it's 40 gallon gas tank, I could haul 6 extra people and that was great-- even if parking caused me problems. This same dad had the gall to teach me how to change oil (none of my other friends had to do that), ask me to bottle-feed calves BEFORE school, and expect me to help walk beans, sow oats, and pick rocks out of a field. I was just slave labor, apparently. But I lived through it all and what I thought was so embarrassing now just makes me smile. Because now I hear my own daughter echoing the same tone which will be the music in our lives for the next few years and I kind of think this will be fun. No wonder my dad was always grinning.

Three out of Four Isn't Bad

It seems crazy that I can say I have been married for fourteen years. At times, I still feel sixteen and chubby and wondering if anyone will ever ask me to dance. But someone did eventually. Well, ok. I didn't get asked to dance but close enough. You all know about the Sweet Potato Queens, don't you? They believe you actually need four husbands- one who can do house repairs, one who will cook, one to ....., and one who can dance. I didn't get this recommendation until I was well on my way with the one that I chose. At the time, getting one husband seemed more than enough. I now joke with the ONE that being three our of four isn't bad.

Ok, I didn't get asked to dance. I got asked for a ride home from a party.We were at a Halloween party of all things- both in costume. I was carting all the bridesmaid's dresses from weddings I'd been in along with a sash that said "The Eternal Bridesmaid" written on it in blue Sharpie. I also had those lovely dyed-to-match shoes so I could change the whole ensemble every hour on the hour. From fetching frothy peach to shocking satin pink to a lustrous aquarmarine, I gave reports about each couple. The ONE had on a mask of some melting-faced creature. Pinned to his t-shirt was a sign that read "I should have listened to my mom. I DIDN'T stop making that face. It stuck."

I don't know if meeting my future husband in costume had any weird meaning for us. But what I know is that we felt comfortable with each other early on, that we got to know each other through letters (how old-fashioned) because we didn't live in the same town and we were both short of cash that enabled us to travel frequently to see each other, and the laughter came easily and frequently.

Fourteen years later, I can report that we are still comfortable with each other, we don't write to each other anymore except for the cryptic e-mail reminder of this or that, and that laughter has sustained us and gotten us out of some tough spots. Halloween is celebrated in a big way--for the kids, the grandparents or for us--it is never quite clear why, but it is. I feel certain I won't look for a dancing partner. Who knows? Maybe my son will buck the Wilfahrt male tradition and ask me to dance one day. However, I've got no complaints. Really. Three out of four is pretty great.