The date that changed my life

Driving to work yesterday morning, it suddenly hit me: it was the ten-year anniversary of my first date with Scott.

I remember it all so well: what I wore (red V-neck sweater, black pants), his car (green Jeep Wrangler, sold when Matthew came along), where he parked (parallel along the curb, a block off of University), the restaurant where we had a marathon-length dinner (casual-elegant, votive candles on the table).  When we’d arranged the date, I’d told him on the phone that I should probably be home by ten or so, because I’m a teacher, and my kind gets up early.  At 10:40 we were still at the restaurant, gabbing away.   “I guess I should get you back home, right?” he finally asked.

“Oh, that’s okay,” I said blithely.  “Tomorrow’s Friday.  I can sleep over the weekend.”  I didn’t want the date to end … and, in a way, it hasn’t.

He’s older now, and grayer; so, for that matter, am I.  But the things that hooked me on that first date are still there.  I love his intelligence, his humor, his spirituality, and, most of all, his deep kindness.  When I first met him, I just knew in my bones that he was a good person.   Ten years in, he hasn’t proved me wrong.

When my mom’s cousin met Scott for the first time, shortly after we were married, she smiled at our newlywed bliss. “You probably both feel like you got the better deal, right?” she asked.   She was right — and it’s a very nice way to feel.

So it’s a big day — a Gratitude-with-a-capital-G kind of day.   Actually, it’s been a Gratitude-with-a-capital-G kind of decade.  And if we’re lucky, this is just the beginning.

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