28 years and counting

Heading back from RadioShack the other day, I saw an old (probably in their late 70s) couple walking down the street. They stopped for a minute to look into a store window, and I watched as the man gently took his companion's hand in his. In that small affectionate act, I felt like I could see the bond between them. It's likely that their story is not as fairytale-esque as I'm inclined to believe, but in that moment of observation, they were the quintessential couple.

Today is my parents' 28th wedding anniversary. Like the elderly couple, my impression of my parents’ marriage is most likely unreasonably idealized. Based on what I know, their story is reminiscent of a too-predictable romantic comedy; they met in college, married other people (they were both at each other's respective first weddings), and against the odds, ended up together many years later. The history I've concocted of them as a couple is not a realistic one. I know that. I'm ok with it. In actuality, they only tied the knot because they decided they wanted a kid (that's me), which doesn't really scream sweep-you-off-your-feet romance. Disregarding facts that suggest the contrary, I like to think of them as if they've always been together, as if they belong together. Today, they celebrate the time they've spent married to each other, and so do I. Their togetherness has shaped my ideas about marriage and love and coupledom, and for that I am grateful.

I’m certain that in a few years, when my parents are a bit older, they will be able to be seen walking down the street together, holding hands. I hope someone takes a moment to notice.