Thirty years ago today a great, great thing happened: Alice and I were married. 10 a.m., outside in the Mary Washington College Amphitheatre, which scores of Governor’s School students had swept clean for us the day before. It was a hot and humid day, but the rain held off, the ice cream held out, and the adventure began.
Alice’s father, a Presbyterian minister, performed the ceremony, assisted by my uncle Fred Gardner, a Baptist minister. Yes, an ecumenical service indeed. Apparently the combination was magic, and it can now be revealed, dear reader.
My father was my best man. He’s been gone now for seventeen years. My mother died twenty years ago this September. My uncle Fred passed away several years before that. They are greatly missed, every day. I like to think they would still recognize us as the kids they knew. We’ve lived and lived through a lot in these thirty years, but we’re both pretty stubborn about hanging on to that spark.
I am grateful for that spark. And I am grateful for Alice.
The adventure continues.