Once upon a time, a little girl moved from the Big Apple out
to the fresh air and mountains of South Dakota’s Black Hills. On her first day
of school in Hot Springs, second grade, she noticed a boy across the room. She
didn’t know his name, but he had very, very blond hair and a little scar on his
temple from where he had scratched at his chicken pox. She had never had
chicken pox. (More on that later.)
After that, they weren’t in the same homeroom very often,
and she didn’t pay much attention to him. Their families went to the same
church, and they were in youth group together in middle school. She had a crush on his best friend at one
point. They were both in band, both played flute. She was first chair. He wasn’t
very good. Until he got put on bass drum in the marching band. He had rhythm,
that’s for sure.
In high school, they both joined debate. Both still in band.
Both in theater. (In Hot Springs you didn’t specialize. There just weren’t
enough students. Everyone was a generalist.) During sophomore year, he started
paying attention to her. Talking to her more than just the general ways
classmates do. He finally asked her out over Christmas break. It was a dance
with the local band Ivory playing. (Clap if you remember them. Yeah, two of
you. That’s what I thought.) He drove his grandma’s car, and she got friends to
buy beer for her. The ride home was not a pretty sight.
Still, he asked her out again. (In those days, you asked a
girl out. You dated. You actually went on dates to do things.) Until they were
pretty much a thing. She was 15. They went to lots of movies and lots of
dances. More beer was involved. (That’s pretty much what you had in Hot
Springs.)
They went to debate camp the next summer, and that’s where
they started to fall in love. And that’s when they also realized they’d be
excellent debate partners. During junior
and senior years, they won many, many debate tournaments, theater contests,
band festivals, etc. They spent an awful lot of time together. Her parents
worried. But he was a nice boy.
Oh, things happened. They got into some troubles. Those aren’t
important. What’s important is that they loved each other. Then they graduated.
She was valedictorian. He was a national merit scholar. They went to separate
colleges. She was miserable. She had a car accident. She sprained her ankle multiple
times. She hated being apart from him. So she transferred and life was back on
track. They spent their college years at Carleton. He ran cross country and
acted in theater. She played flute and wrote plays. Neither of them did debate.
They graduated. She was cum laude. He got distinction in his
major. Then they got married. That was June 20, 1984. Twenty-nine years ago.
That’s not the end of the story, but that’s how the story began.
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