I was engaged in kindergarten
March 20 is Proposal Day, which is just too good of an opportunity to pass up to tell you some stories from my childhood that I’ve never been able to live down.
Romance is something that I think I’ve always wanted. It started when I was a toddler, when the church nursery attendant once caught me and a little boy behind the rocking chair kissing. Yes, in the church. During the service, even.
I know. Scandalous. Fortunately, the nursery attendant was an ex-biker and was the furthest thing from prim and proper that could exist, so I didn’t get into trouble. Also, I was about 18 months at the time. All I remember about it is the number of times my parents have retold the story with smiles and chuckles.
I was also one of those rare little girls who wanted to marry her daddy. In fact, I remember getting a pretty heated argument with my Mom when I was about three because I wanted her to share Dad, and she steadfastly refused. It seemed to me like my request was pretty reasonable. After all, when I played house with my little friends, there would be times when different people would play the mommy, daddy, kids, and pets and then the pretend roles would shift with the scope of our collective imagination. So, why wouldn’t Mom let me marry Dad when she was done? In my little mind, it just sounded selfish of her, like she was refusing to do play fair with me when she required that I played fair with my friends. Fortunately, I got over that fairly quickly. And for anyone who was wondering, my mom still isn’t “done.” In fact, my parents will be celebrating their 39th anniversary this September.
It wasn’t until I was six years old that the drama escalated. My best friend at that time was Dale. We were practically inseparable and got along famously.
A little too famously, actually. Nothing inappropriate, just chummy enough to raise yellow flags with our parents. One night, Dale’s dad sat down with him to have a heart-to-heart about it right before bedtime. But my friend assured him that everything was okay. “I’m going to marry Angela,” he explained—very calmly and straightfaced. Somehow, Dale’s dad didn’t laugh immediately and instead asked how he could be so sure. “Well, I asked her to marry me, and she said yes.”
As much I wish I could remember the conversation Dale referenced, I don’t. Plus, there was no ring involved in our relationship. I guess Dale was saving his allowance and planned to give it to me at a more opportune time.
According to my parents, Dale’s dad transitioned very abruptly into bedtime prayers, tucked him, and managed to close the bedroom door before the chuckles started. He then called my parents and told them how the conversation went, and they shared his amusement.
With all of that, it would be reasonable to expect that my teenage years were a nightmare. Thankfully, they were not. By the grace of God, my parents were able to instill in me some common sense between the ages of six and 12 (when I had my first real crush) that carried me and saved me a lot of heartache during my vulnerable growing up years.
And Dale? Well, he met the (real) love of his life and they got married in 2012. They have two lovely girls, and are living out their happily ever after.