21

Twenty-one years ago, June 3, 1989, I married my husband. His third marriage, my first. We started life with two kids; 4 and 7, both daughters – one each from the first two marriages. We’re 10 years apart in age (almost 11 he likes to remind me) and come from different backgrounds. He was raised Methodist; I was raised Assembly of God. His parents celebrated their 50th anniversary; I was raised mostly by my mom (my dad died when I was 11). His family went on camping, hunting and fishing vacations, my family took me to Hawaii, Mexico, the Caribbean and other exotic place. He has two sisters, I am an only child.

We have, in our twenty-one years survived one job lay-off, two company reorganizations, two years of unemployment, births of two boys, death of three parents, two grandchildren, two son-in-laws and two dogs, four cats, one bearded dragon and one hamster.

We met on a blind date – arranged by the best friend of ex-wife #2. I’m convinced to this day she was attempting to make amends for breaking up marriage #2 due to the introduction of ex-wife #2’s soon-to-be-third husband. NO one, his family, my family; and yes, probably even us, though it would last this long. Who in their right mind would marry a man that had been married twice before and expect it to work out? Who in their right mind would marry a girl who wanted more children and had no life experience?

Marriage is not what I dreamed of as a young girl – you know – the prince rescues you from the tower and you live happily ever after. I didn’t need rescuing and he doesn’t live in a castle (at least I haven’t found the tower or the moats yet). The only dragons he’s had to slay have been child-support, house payments, commuting to work, and me wanting to stay at home and having more children.

Someday I might write the story of how we met, and what it’s like to live with two ex-wives and two step-daughters. But let’s just say that we the way we met pretty much sums up the reason we work together. Our differences seem to mesh in a way that I’m sure many that knew us then didn’t understand. Our similarities aren’t really that obvious. And the reasons I love him are usually also the reasons that I want to smack him sometimes. And, I’m sure he feels the same way.

I’m hoping we have another 20+ years to prove people wrong. For us to make it to 50 years, he’ll have to live to be 77, which is doable. And something else nobody thought would happen either.