How Did You and Daddy Meet?

When my kids asked about the day I met their father I recall that Friday night in 1968 when I had just settled in after a busy week of teaching junior high kids.

Here’s what happened:

I was looking forward to finish reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X that weekend.

My girlfriend Wanda  and I both taught English in a local junior high school.

She called, begging me to go on a blind date.

"A blind date? Are you kidding me? I’m too busy.”

“Doing what?” Wanda prodded.

"Reading Malcolm X." I blurted in all sincerity. “Besides, you know I don’t go on blind dates!”

“Oh, come on, I don’t want to go alone. My sister’s boyfriend is in town and she asked me to take him out while he’s here. He’s bringing a friend who lives in town, and I don’t want to go out with two guys!” she continued to make her case.

“Sounds like a personal problem to me,” I said. “Besides, I have nothing to wear.”

Wanda was quick with, “Yes you do. How about that green two-piece you just bought?”

That’s the problem with having a close girlfriend. She knows every piece in your closet and won’t hesitate to use it against you during a disagreement.

I will spare you the rest of the saga for now, but you guessed right. I went out against my will and met my future husband. (Wanda, I still hold you responsible!)

Wanda picked me up and we made our way to the Biltmore Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. That's where Theron, the boyfriend of Wanda's sister was staying. He lived in Washington, D.C. and was in town as part of his work on a project initiated by President Lyndon B. Johnson unofficially called the war on poverty.

My future husband (Herb)  who also worked for the same program was living in Los Angeles at the time and we all met at the hotel.

 We went to a popular jazz club called The Lighthouse in Hermosa Beach, California. We had a good time as I recall, and I promptly fell asleep on Herb's shoulder on the way home,

My kids enjoy listening to the saga and teasing me for falling asleep on the first date with a guy I had just met.

Oh well, that’s the truth.

It was even funnier when my husband would interrupt, inserting his exaggerated version of the evening where he'd skip straight to "We met at the Biltmore Hotel."

"Ooh, Mommy, you met at a hotel?" as if I had been hanging out in the bar looking to pick up some guy.

It isn’t a riveting tale, but it’s lots more interesting than saying we met at church, isn’t it?

Of course, we didn’t meet at church, but you get my point, right?

If I just told that story to my kids orally, they  may not remember it. My husband passed in 1988. And who knows the direction my memory would take if I delayed writing that story years ago?

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This is one of my own stories I share in my pdf/ebook, "Wait! Don't Leave Before We Get to Know You:  Your Guide to Writing Your Life Story." Don’t wait any longer to write the story only you can tell, available now at florabrown.com/wait-dont-leave