Flashback today to Oct. 1, 1961, my parents’ wedding anniversary.
Fifty-two years later, they’re still going strong, having weathered all manner of crazy obstacles life has a way of throwing at us all.
When I was small, it was a huge thrill to flip through their wedding album, its black-and-white chronicle somehow exciting and exotic to a kid of the day-glo late ’60s and ’70s.
Relics of their time, the photos are notable for their subjects’ serious expressions. No one smiles — although there is one photo bomb by my Uncle Richard, a man clearly ahead of his time, photographically speaking.
What color was lacking from the record of the day my parents filled in: My mother was so nervous, the dressmaker had to keep taking in her wedding gown (she had an 18-inch waist at the time of the big day); my Papa stepped on Mom’s dress; Dad was proud of his jacket choice; the chicken wasn’t cooked, but everyone managed to have a great time. If memory of their stories serves correctly, my Nana danced on the table.
Years later, my parents were dancing — in the living room, showing my sister, Traci, and me how to do the stroll.
Sure wish I’d paid more attention.
Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad!