Today is my husband’s birthday, so I decided to write a post with him in mind. I met my husband many moons ago when I was a starry-eyed teenager. We were both college students on summer break at the time, living at home and working to save money for the next semester. Summer romances are often a whirlwind of magical moments, blazing as brightly as the midday sun. The opening stanza of the “Summer Loving” song from Grease paints a vivid picture.
Summer loving had me a blast
Summer loving happened so fast
I met a girl crazy for me
Met a boy cute as can beSummer days drifting away
…Oh, the summer nights
We lived almost an hour apart from each other. So, we slaved away at our jobs during the weekdays and went on dates in the evenings on the weekends. As we spent time together, we slowly forged a relationship. We enjoyed bonfires with friends at Huntington Beach, strolling around Balboa Island, going on the rides at Disneyland, etc. I even impressed him with a home-cooked fresh seafood dinner on his birthday. (Now, we usually just dine on Costco pre-packaged meals.)
But summer romances often have a built-in expiration date and can be as fleeting as the vacation. Keeping a relationship alive across the miles could be pricey in those dinosaur days. I had a friend who sold his plasma in college to pay for long-distance phone calls to his girlfriend who was temporarily living abroad. Apparently, it was worth the literal pain and suffering, because they eventually got married and are still together decades later.
We met each other’s families during the summer. My husband wisely won over my mother before I returned to college, and she became his biggest cheerleader. I can’t recall any real dating disasters, which may be why our relationship went the distance. But, on the day that we were married, my husband’s sisters hand-delivered a condolence card to me!
