Today is Valentine’s Day. I must admit, I have never been a fan of this so-called “holiday.” I’ve always viewed it as so “exclusive” even when I had a “valentine” who sent me flowers, bought me candy and jewelry and cards. Even now, being happily married, I find the holiday a bit superficial–I believe we should be kind, affectionate and giving to those we love every day.
Although I don’t particularly like the commercial side of things, I do enjoy hearing “how we met” stories from couples, and find those I discover in my own family’s history particularly interesting.
I met my husband 16 years ago – we worked together. He wouldn’t want me to say much more than this so I won’t. However, I always liked the story of how my own parents met.
They were the same age and in the same class in high school but did not date. It wasn’t until my father returned home from the Navy in 1946 following World War II that he and my mother became a couple. My mother’s family moved into the house next door to my father’s family and my mother became friends with my father’s sister, Betty. Betty was married to John Berta, and had a two-year-old son, John Jr. (Jackie), but still lived with her parents in the house on Hill Street. My father often went along when Betty took her son to the park or zoo and introduced my father and mother. My parents dated for a little over a year and then married in 1947. They were married for 52 years. This Valentine’s Day I honor them.