35 Years

Today marks the 35th wedding anniversary of my parents. And to them, I offer this poem: 35 years ago, on this very day, A hot 21-year-old held a bouquet, At the front of the aisle, standing just so, Was a guy, call him “Dad,” with a real Afro. Mums walked down the aisle on the arm of her dad, Though parting with his youngest did make him quite sad, Together, my folks exchanged vows and then rings, Then went off to a reception full of 70s bling. Now five years later, to the birth of their girl, An angel named “Ashley,” with Mums’s eyes and Dad’s curl. So smitten were they, with their first little kid, They had number two, and (sigh) keep him they did. The following years had highs and then lows, But together they stayed, oh, for love, I suppose. The kids, they grew up, impeccably reared, Except for one incident with Tyler’s Mr. Beer. Dad built his buildings, not dressed in nice suits, But in shirts made of flannel and muddy work boots. Mums wore her pumps, in every bold shade, To the office she’d go, and a living she made. Lessons and practices, and games with a ball, Who attended these things? Ma and Pa saw them all. Plus coaching cross-country, Dad thought was quite cool, So loyal was he to Liberty High School. Eventually, the first kid, to college she went, While Pops sat and worried where her soul would be sent. One year later, the second, for college he left, And empty-nest Mums, why, she was bereft! Is raising kids work? Oh hell yes, you bet, But it didn’t take too long for them to forget. The errands, the planning, the things teenagers need, Now Mums had the time to sit down and (gasp!) read. Two weddings later, more children they got, Chris and Christine, whom they like a lot. Soon after that, another was born, “The most precious grandbaby,” they’ve repeatedly sworn. 35 years—good lord, that’s plain trippy, Only one thing to say—You down with O.P.P.?