How I Met Your (Mother) Father

Your father and I met in an elementary school copying room. Sometimes I wish I had something more romantic to tell; something to match our current world-wind, abroad teaching adventure but that’s all I’ve got. We met in a copying room. He entered with papers to copy and I thought this is the man I’m going to marry. Those days were easy. They were magic. He was easy and adorable. Days of holding hands, kissing, being close, walking together would flutter by. We spent our first few months thawing like Spring at the park laying on a blanket “having a catch.” I couldn’t walk past him without putting my hand on his shoulder. I used to kiss his chin. He remembers my pink lip-gloss. I remember how well he listened. He wanted to know everything about me. Even now, I’ll surprise him with some nugget of information he’s never heard before and he’ll ask, “Who are you?” (He thinks I don’t know that it secretly excites him to know that I’m still a mystery because he has a lifetime to figure it out.) But you should know it wasn’t always easy. Even with a man as generous and committed as your father, I had to wait. I had to love him hard and steadfast because he wasn’t “sure” for a long time. So I had to swallow my pride and not waver and stand there solidly in the ground because I had to be sure enough for the both of us until we were both sure. When both of you came into our lives, it all made sense. Now I understand why he listened so well, why I waited so long. We were meant to be so that you would come to be. Now we have so much more to love. We may hold hands less and I might forget to touch his shoulder when I walk by but the love is there. It’s always there.

And to think this all started in an unromantic copy room…