June 24, 1972, I married the love of my life at the ripe age of 19. We were broke, living in his parent’s rent house, with a baby on the way and no idea what to do with it. But we persevered.
We met our senior year in high school and began dating soon thereafter. Then after our freshman year of college we married. The baby came much too quickly, and we were both terrified. But she soon taught us all we needed to know about how to parent her. Four and half years later we did it again—this one a boy.
By the time we were 25 we had two children and a mortgage on a cute little three-bedroom house where we lived for the next 20 years. The children thrived in spite of us, and we worked sometimes daylight until dark or later. We tired to work opposite shifts, so someone was home for them, and we had two grandmothers and a babysitter in town to fill in the gaps.
Later in life we both went back to school to finish what we started and encouraged the kids to not follow in our footsteps. We knew the hardships of marrying early and being poor. I think they listened.
But I wouldn’t have done it any other way.
It has been 50 years since we married in that chapel and began being parents within the first year. We took a little trip with some cousins to celebrate the event and hired some work done around the house to make life easier for us. We never would have done that 20 years ago. The do-it-yourselfers have finally succumbed to having the work done for us and giving our aging bodies a break.
We are now retired, and I know we have been blessed. Not many marriages last that long these days due to divorce or sometimes death. I can’t imagine life without my husband, but I know one of us will probably go down that path someday.
Happy 50th Anniversary sweetheart. I love you.