Love Story

You could say it was a marriage made in God’s time. They were 27 and 31 when they tied the knot. Absolutely over-the-hill in an era when people got hitched long before they turned 25.

But I suppose it was not easy to woo a princess. One day, however, a lad from far away came knocking at the palace gates. He had no kingdom to speak of but he came bold and unafraid. He didn’t have gold or silver to bring her but he had stories full of daring and adventure. And what do you know? She said yes.

We like to rib my mom, “You got played. That’s what happens when you marry someone from out of town.” My father had a reputation for being a ladies’ man and my mother was completely clueless.

My mom would later tell us that my father’s old “girlfriends” would continue to send him their photos even though (as my mother likes to say), they already knew he was married. I have carefully preserved the photographic evidence with all the saccharine sweet dedications on the backside. They now form part of the family archives.

When my parents were in their late 70s, we went to my father’s hometown. A lady excitedly told my father (in front of my mom) that X, his old girlfriend, was now widowed. The lady’s husband immediately elbowed her to stop talking.

I don’t think she meant any harm. I think she only meant to update my father. After all, my father often remarked during his last trips to his hometown that there were no more familiar faces—all his old buddies were gone.

So, I guess this lady was simply overjoyed to let my father know that an ex-girlfriend was still around. The fact that she was now also available was simply supplementary information.

We thought the situation hilarious so that we would often keep retelling this story to rib my dad about his ex. He never told us who she was. But from my mother’s expression, she couldn’t care less.

Like any marriage, my parents’ was not an easy one. It was made especially difficult with five headstrong daughters. But God was merciful. He gave them one obedient son.

I used to look at my parents’ marriage and say to myself, I can never be a wife because I cannot do what my mother does every day. I don’t have her patience and forbearance. I am more like my father—impatient, opinionated and with impossible expectations no one can live up to.

These days, my father likes to sit in his wheelchair for hours—staring at the sleeping figure of my mother. Often, he falls asleep doing this. “What is he doing?” my mom asks me, one day, as she glances towards my father facing her, fast asleep in his wheelchair.

“Your face is the one he wants to see the moment he opens his eyes,” I tell her. She smiles.

Like all others, theirs is not a perfect marriage. But you could say it’s a love story made in God’s time. Happy 62nd, Ma, Pa.