Fifty-nine years ago tonight a 21-year-old Bronx boy sat in his parents' kitchen nursing a hot cup of tea laced with something significantly stronger. He had a bad cold and this was his mother's way of fixing him up quickly for tomorrow.
Tomorrow was his wedding day. You might think the cold was psychosomatic but who even knew what that word meant then. He wasn't particularly nervous. This day had been four years in the making.
It started on a July 4th weekend in Long Beach, N.Y. when he was introduced to the girl who he knew in an instant would be his wife. It proceeded through four (actually three-and-a-half) years of college and now here he was on the eve of becoming a married man.
He liked the idea then and he still likes it. So does the woman who has been his wife for 58 years and 364 days. In that time, our two sons have given us 12 grandchildren and three great-grandchildren with two more on the way.
We have much to celebrate but we'll do it quietly together, remembering the beginning and looking forward to the future.
Tomorrow is our 59th wedding anniversary.
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