Old Man, Sox curse gone, but love endures
The Boston Red Sox were still stuck with the Curse of the Bambino.
The Cog Railway ran only on coal, William Loeb was calling the President "Jerry the Jerk," the nation had yet to celebrate its bicentennial, and golf had no oversized drivers or hybrids.
Our wedding anniversary was last weekend and I mention it here in part because so many readers have told me that they are of a similar age and have recognized in these columns through the years references to life, love, kids, and now grandkids that parallel their own experience.
We got married on an unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon in my mother-in-law's front room. All the parents, aunts, and uncles then in attendance have long since departed - none, I hope, to intolerably warmer climes.
The Lady of the House (we are in our fourth, preceded by one apartment. They went from small, to medium, to big, and now to smallest) insisted on sending an invitation to my cousin, the priest, who officiated. The invitation was just to the reception. Only immediate family were invited to the wedding itself. But the priest was confused by the invitation and by the time he showed up, an hour late, all the reception invitees were in attendance, so it was a packed house.
Little did they or we know that Father John may not have obtained proper dispensation to perform the marriage not in a church. Years later, we put that right with a renewal of vows.
I'm glad we did the repeat. I actually paid attention the second time around. At the first, I was so head-over-heels in love with the stunning, gorgeous bride facing me that the priest could have been talking about moon rocks for all I know. The second time, I actually heard the vows. Pretty smart of me to agree to them, I thought then. Still do.
Marriage has brought: two rugrats and their spouses; grandsons Ike, Mike, and Spike; Christmas mornings, Thanksgiving pie-baking contests, pets, travel together, work-related travel apart that underlined absence making the heart grow fonder; other weddings, funerals, arguments, apologies, surprises, challenges, and more happiness than ought to be awarded a single doofus who once owned a leisure suit and showed up for his first date wearing shorts with brown shoes and black socks.
And about those Red Sox: I have two tickets to the 7th game of this year's World Series. I may make them an anniversary gift. What do you think?.
Write to Joe McQuaid at firstname.lastname@example.org or via Twitter at @deucecrew.