An Old-Fashioned Romance

(ROCKWALL, TX – Feb. 11, 2017) The first time I met my father-in-law he shoveled wet concrete in his back yard. Back then he wasn’t my father-in-law, he was Mr. McGinnis, a hulk of a man, standing 6’3”, boasting forearms the size of hams. I couldn’t help but imagine being shoved feet first into the concrete and hurled into the Mississippi River after our meeting. He was (and still is) a very traditional father: Angie wasn’t allowed to call boys, calls were also not accepted after 9 p.m., and boys were required to have a one-on-one interview with him before dating his daughter. So, I drove over one afternoon, a bag of nerves, and met him in his backyard as he mixed and shoveled the concrete.

“You go to church?” he asked. I gave my answer of where, how many years, who my pastor was, and I think I even shared my favorite hymn.

“You believe in Jesus?”

I recited my testimony. Described the day I walked the aisle of the church as “Just as I Am” played, asking the Lord into my heart. Angie waited a short distance away, fuming at the interrogation.

“Why do you want to date my daughter?”

Ok, this one I didn’t see coming. He went straight for the jugular. I hemmed and hawed and stammered about Angie’s friendship and beauty and I mumbled other stuff as the man stoically stared me in the eye. Then, he shook my hand, said he approved, and warned to not bring her home a second late.

And I never, ever did.

That was almost 30 years ago and the girl I went through the “grilling” for is still my sweetheart, my wife for almost 25 years. My students are shocked when they hear that story, like we’re from another planet or resurrected relics from a magical museum—and they don’t know the half of it.

We were each other’s “first” and we waited till our wedding night. Now that’s not just traditional, that’s so archaic and so out-of-touch that it’s quite difficult to admit. And it’s crazy (and sad) that I’d be embarrassed of such “Victorian values.” It wasn’t easy, but it was how we were raised, it was the right thing to do, and besides, I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

Except for an occasional hunting or camping trip, we do everything together. We love hikes, even logged miles in Ozark Mountains on our honeymoon. We’re constantly looking for a good movie or a new series to binge watch, and nearly every weekend our “Starbuck’s date” is a highlight—a simple trip for coffee, just the two of us, where we often regroup from a busy week. My point is, this old fogey way of doing things has worked for us. It hasn’t always been easy, there are times I’m as scared as the day I met that big man shoveling concrete, but after some courage and commitment there’s a great prize on the other side, and she gets greater with every passing year.

By Scott Gill of Rockwall, teacher, coach and author of Goliath Catfish. Follow Scott’s blog at puptentpapa.blogspot.com and read his “Front Porch Ramblings” at BlueRibbonNews.com.

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