My Valentine

I can thank a boy named Brian Miller for helping me find my true love. It was his high school graduation party where I first met my husband, Jon. June eighth to be exact. A beautiful summer evening. Like most weekend nights, my best friend and I were on the prowl for boys. We left my house around seven o’clock that evening. Outfitted in a pair of tight cropped pants and a pastel oversized, belted blouse. The ensemble was reminiscent of Flashdance and I looked as hot as Jennifer Beals. My stick thin legs and tiny waist were complimented by my flawless long, brunette locks. Even before we got to Brian’s party, I had turned many heads that evening.

We scoured Como Park for our targets that night. Parked in the lot next to the lake, my friend and I sipped our two liter of Peach Wine Cooler. It was warm, but we didn’t care. It was the effects we wanted. Earlier that evening, we convinced a thirty something man to purchase our alcohol. Parked in the lot of a small liquor store on Rice Street in St. Paul, I rolled down the window when a man opened his car door. “Hi,” I smiled at him.
“Hello,” he smiled back.
“My friend and I are wondering….” I said to him with a seductive glance.
“What would you like?” he asked without the need for me to have finished my sentence.

It didn’t take us long to attract attention. A car-full of boys pulled up beside us. “What’s up tonight, ladies?” one of the boys asked us. “Not much.” I replied trying not to look desperate. A boy in the back of the car said, “We are going to a great party tonight. Want to tag along?” He asked. I asked the boy where the party was and he said just a few blocks away. Since it was not that far, we felt that it wouldn’t be too much of a waste of time should it turn out to be lame. “We’ll follow you.” I answered. “But we have another commitment, so I’m not sure how long we can stay.”

We arrived at the party. It was at a small house a few blocks north of Como Lake. Interestingly, when we followed the boys into the backyard of the party, they ignored us. Apparently there were some young ladies in attendance that would not approve of them hanging out with two knock-outs from Roseville. I whispered to my friend, “This is a strange party. Why are there so many old people here?” It quickly became apparent that we were at a high school graduation party and we had never met the graduate. Plus, we stuck out like a sore thumb as we knew no one. Although there was no shortage of cute guys at the party, we felt out of place. Right before we were to make our quick exit, a boy approached me. He introduced himself, “Hi, my name is Jon.” I was not immediately attracted to him; yet he was with some very good looking guys.

Jon was not my typical tall, dark and handsome. None the less, he was cute and very friendly. I connected with him right away. That night was the first of many dates Jon and I would have that summer before he left for a year- long Rotary Exchange program to England.
From the moment we met, I believed that Jon was my soul mate; selected by God purposefully for me. He was the first guy that took the time to get to know me, the real me. To Jon, I was much more than an attractive young teenager with a knock-out body. To him, I was sensitive, smart and a great listener. He understood the real me. The quiet young lady who had a heart big enough for six people and a never ending desire to see the good in all things and people. He was the first man to say he loved me.

We were completely wrong for each other. He was Catholic, I Lutheran. His family was white-collar wealthy, mine blue-middle class. He was conservative, I liberal. He went to private school, I public. I was taller than him. He was blonde, I brunette. He lived in a mansion in the city, I in a post-war suburban rambler. He wore socks with sandals, I wore Gucci. As a young couple, we spent hours discussing our backgrounds, beliefs and values. In an unnatural way, we were a natural fit. It was our differences that fueled our attraction.

Jon and I met by accident – fate I imagine. From the night we met, we were inseparable for two months. My young heart was devastated when he departed for a year- long exchange trip to Europe. A lover of literature, he left me with a long reading list that included some of the most romantic novels written – Pride and Prejudice, Love Story, Jane Eyre. Not only did he love the written word, he was an exceptional writer himself. While in Europe, he wrote hundreds of beautifully crafted love letters and poems especially for me. Terribly home sick, I had the good fortune of being the beneficiary of his thoughts on paper. His words were magical; that he loved only me and imagined us together forever. As a teenage girl, it was a fairy tale romance. But, the problem with finding your soul mate while only seventeen is that the mind and body are not as mature as the soul. But at the young age of forty-two, it is so apparent!

I thank God every day for sending me Jon; to a place where I didn’t belong. I believed it was fate that brought us together. I still believe that today. Six years from the very day we met we were married. It will be nineteen years in June! Happy Valentines Day, honey! I love you.