I will never forget the first time I noticed you. You were wearing a pink tie dye shirt and white jeans. Your hair was dark blond then, and well past your shoulders. However, it was probably your laugh that caused me to look in your direction. You have a big laugh.

Thank God it was 1988 because otherwise, no one would believe I am talking about a man.

You were 20 and I was 19. I thought you were so hot that anything that you said to me was simply an excuse to watch your mouth move. Don’t fool yourself, I didn’t hear a thing. You were probably talking about music and bands, and I was wondering how my family would react when I brought you home. A six foot tall headbanger with hair longer than mine might not have gone over well. But they had survived my Cyndi Lauper hair and torn clothes, and the fact that I was a Republican. So there was a chance that you could slip in.

Less than two years later, you had chopped off your hair, donned a white tux, and married me. The cheap wedding bands that we bought replaced the friendship bracelets that we wore for over a year. I still have those bracelets in my jewelry box!

We set up house in that tiny apartment and did what lovers do. We fought. A lot. But we also loved a lot. We were so broke that we couldn’t afford to eat out unless you had overtime. Do you remember how ornate those early dinners were? I had stacks of cookbooks from a variety of eras, and from their pages, I made Turkey Divan, Shrimp Scampi and Beef Stew. Some of these books were so old that they mixed meat and Jell-O and served it in avocado bakeware. But it was 1990 and my bakeware was mauve.

Three years later, we welcomed into the world our first baby. We had too much class to name him ”Oops”, but it was a consideration. With that round, fuzzy head, lusty howls and power poops that shot scat up to his neck, he definitely took after your side of the family. And he was all that we had. No car, no home of our own, and a sofa that we were making payments on, was our entire estate. Then you got a call for a job in the suburbs and we moved up like the Jeffersons.

Well, not really. You were an apartment maintenance man and we had a tiny little place in a beautiful complex. But you still only made $9 an hour and the only car that we could afford chugged and popped like an ancient pick up. Lined up next to the BMWs and Suburbans in the parking lot, I felt so small.

I started babysitting and you delivered pizza at night. We paid off our debts. Soon, we had our second son. We were nearing 30, and restless, and it was time to forge our own way to create a life for this precious family that we created. So, we packed up the house, loaded the van, and moved 2200 miles west to Arizona.

Although we knew no one and had no jobs, we were well prepared. We had three months worth of living expenses. It lasted less than two. You decided to go out on your own and to make for yourself the company that you desired.

It’s been ten years since we arrived in Arizona. We have added two more sons to our tribe. You have an incredible reputation in wealthy Scottsdale for home remodeling and I so proud of you. We bought our first house two years ago. Our kids are happy and thriving, and I am a homemaker.

As we near twenty years together, there is so much to say. You have been the single greatest blessing of my life. You are my sole admirer – the beginning and end of my fan club, and I need no one else. You brought with you a capacity for love that was just deep enough to meet my needs. As our eldest nears the age that we were when we met, when we committed to one another, I realize that we were just babies then. We were kids playing house. We were making significant life decisions at a time when our peers were discovering their favorite beer flavor. And it worked.

But it wasn’t easy. We had to learn on our feet because we had no healthy role models to copy. We didn’t have support either. We were always just ‘us’. And sometimes it was very lonely. But we stayed together, even when we felt alone. But now our kids crawl between us when we watch TV, and they rest their heads against us, enjoying a safety, a peace, that we never knew. Many people believe that if they can send their kids to college or help them to buy a house, they are doing better for their children than they ever had. But I know that the only success that really amounts to anything is the ability to love and to be loved. That needs to be taught, to be seen, so that it can be copied. And I think we did it.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Keith.

by Lorna Peden Waterman contributing writer for Fabulously40