An Engaging Night

Most relationships have a defining moment; something that marks whether that relationship will ultimately succeed or fail. It will be something that also defines the strength of the people involved to the point that when they emerge from it, respect is no longer just a word, but something that has been bestowed and earned. In the drama that followed in our lives, we both earned respect from nearly everyone in how we both were able to handle our individual parts of what was to ensue.

June was to own two very defining moments, exactly one week apart. The first was the defining moment of a commitment to each other; the first step to spending the rest of our lives together. The second tested that commitment to a greater degree than any thought either of us were capable of.

Early in the month, the Queen and I had done some serious shopping for an engagement ring. Being that I wanted her to get what she wanted, we went together. Once we were set, I held onto it until the most opportune time. After all, there was one very important thing that needed to be done before the official question could be popped: I had to talk to her father.

As much fun as I tend to have with the names on here, I pondered a very long time as to what to call the Queen's father. There was no single name I could create that could convey the respect I have for him, nor the position that he holds in both our lives. I honestly tried, too, but in the end, I have to simply call him the Queen's father, and leave it at that. I don't want to risk being either inappropriate or disrespectful to him, because both he and the Queen Mother have been very good to us throughout our lives.

Of course, my most vivid memory of that day when I asked for his permission to take his daughter away from him was him eating the remaining ice cream out of a blue bell half gallon tub. I was very nervous, and let's face it, he's a big guy. Big, as in power lifter big. Inotherwords, he could benchpress me with very little effort. The Queen was out of the room, so I spouted my question: "Can I marry your daughter?" His response: "I don't know. Can you?" The joke ended there. He was deadly serious going forward.

What is the most important thing to a father? That his little girl is cared for. That who she ends up with not only respect her but respect the family as well. He told me he would always be there for us and to never screw him over or take advantage of his goodwill. Then he called the Queen in and asked if she knew about this. She said we'd talked about it, but that was it. He spoke to both of us briefly about responsibility and what we were getting into.

I did promise to take care of her, and I have always tried to. I cannot say I've always done right by them, but I can say I never intended to do anything wrong. As we were leaving, Darth Vader, who was 19 at the time, came running out. He also urged me to take care of his sister, or he would be most displeased. Ok, he didn't say it quite like that, but it fits my character name for him.

So we went out. We went to the pool hall where we'd gone so many times before. I remember she was wearing these Tigger overalls she had. I liked them for a variety of reasons, but mostly because she just looked cute in them. Don't ask me about shirt color -- be happy I remembered the overalls.

Anyway, we played a few games of pool and were going to head of to eat something. I had given a lot of thought as to how I would ultimately "pop" the question. I figured I'd have a little personality about me, but still try to maintain the romantic positioning that she seemed to want. I figured I'd do it after playing pool and before dinner...while walking to the car.

In line with my personality, as I walked around the car to let her in (the way I had to open my doors was to open the driver's side door first, and then reach across and unlock the passenger side door), I tripped over my own feet, landing quite conveniently on one knee. I dipped into my pocket for the ring. It took a moment to do this, apparently, because she asked if I was ok.

I popped back up, box open and asked her to marry me. Her hands went to her face. She was smiling behind them. She said yes. I rose to my feet and put the ring on her finger. She threw her arms around my neck, giving me another yes for good measure.

While I don't remember for certain where we ate after that, I would surmise that we ended up at the Olive Garden, since that's where we went for the special occasion. My memory leads me through the nervous tension that lead up to the moment, and then fades quickly once it happened. While I've worked through this, I've found that to happen with remarkable consistency. Isn't it odd that we vividly remember the trials of our lives, but seems to stop the movie as soon as the triumph happens? That's probably why stories end so quickly after the climax -- nothing interesting happens afterward.

But we know that interesting things did happen afterward. The trials were destined to continue, and even now, so many years later, are the trials starting to turn into more triumphs. It's been a long time since that boy and that girl promised themselves to each other, and thinking of their faces etched with hopefulness makes me think about how much I had to learn about so many things since then. Life changes so quickly, and memories disappear into the past so easily, and yet, when I picture that couple -- the couple that the Queen and I were on that June day -- I cannot help but smile. For even though we're not the people that we were then, I also know that those people are still inside of us, and every once in awhile, we still feel the euphoria of that day -- that day when everything was right, hopeful, and the world was at our feet.