August 12th, 1961--It was a hot, humid day in Chicago. I was nearly twelve years old and not very impressed with the fact that my father--a widower with four children--was getting married again. Looking back from fifty years down the road, I remember the hustle and bustle of getting four children dressed and keeping them clean on the drive from northern Indiana where we lived.
I wore my absolutely favorite dress of all time, a deep grape purple cotton dress with a crinoline underdress. I loved that dress and mourned inconsolably when I grew up so it didn't fit anymore.
My new stepmother was lovely in her white wedding dress. Like all brides, she looked like a fairy princess as she came down the aisle. I mulled over the possibilities that this deal might not be too bad, after all.
My brothers and I were no bargain, that's for sure. After losing our mother in a car accident the year before, we were a wild and wooly bunch, unruly and rebellious. No one was going to tell us what to do.
Well, the new woman in the house persevered. Believe it or not, we grew up to be fairly decent adults. Amazing as it might be, Mom hung in there through thick and thin.
Yesterday she gave us a scare when Dad rushed her off to the hospital because of chest pains. But after her 50,000 mile overhaul, she seems to be doing just fine. The doctors checked her out and let her go home by evening.
Today, they celebrate their fiftieth anniversary. In an era where couples change partners more often than their underwear, that's quite a feat. Mom and Dad are both in their eighties and both still active.
I love them both, though I don't get to see them very often.
With all my heart I wish them a very Happy Anniversary!!!