**REMEMBERING MOM and DAD**

October 20th is my birthday.

It’s also my parent’s anniversary. They would have been married 70 years today.

Mom has been with the Lord since 2008. Dad remarried and went home to Glory in 2019. I sure miss them both. The loss doesn’t sting like it used to, but it still aches sometimes. Thankfully, I know I will see them again, and that gives me great comfort.

I had the pleasure of writing a short story a few years back about how my Dad and Mom met, and it was published as a top 50 piece in The Story: 2014 Anthology by Family Fiction, hosted by Karen Kingsbury.

It’s based on the story my parents told me of how they first met, then enriched with my own imagination based on who I knew them to be.

In their memory I’d like to share it here.

Love you, Mom and Dad. Always.

Lifetime

I watched them as I wiped the counter. Now that’s a good lookin’ group of women, I thought to myself, smiling. As I followed the circular motion of my rag moving along the counter, stopping to scrub off sticky food where necessary, I could hear them giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls. What were they, maybe 17 or 18 years old?

I knew they were out of high school, as they had come in for their graduation celebration just last week; but as giddy as they were right now, you’d think they were still in middle school. One of them stood up with her hands on her hips, shouting something about wanting to dance. She sauntered over to the jukebox to put in a coin, her poodle skirt following the exaggerated movement of her hips.

Turning to look back at her friends she bellowed, “C’mon girls, let’s dance!” The sound of Buddy Holly filled the air. All four girls bounced up and were moving swiftly on the floor, but only a moment into the song and the sound of a deep throated roar interrupted their rhythm. Five Harley Davidson motorcycles pulled up front, riders all dressed in black leather. I squinted my eyes to see if I recognized any of them. In such a small town, you’d think I’d know everyone who comes into my shop by now, but these guys were new.

I looked over at the girls, who had stopped dancing to check them out. You could tell they were both suspicious and fascinated, as they paused for a moment with a look of caution before huddling together to whisper excitedly amongst themselves. As the leather clad group entered the diner, the girls broke their cluster, with the one who had started the jukebox leading the way back to their table.

This one appeared to be the leader of the group. Standing about 5’ 5” tall, with a voluptuous figure and soft curls in her light brown hair, she was the loudest, with a fiery personality. I’d been watching her for a while. Her smile lit up a room, and her eyes had a twinkle that would sparkle ever more intense when she would tease or entice her friends.

Four of the guys claimed a table near the girls while the fifth one came up to the counter. Hair as black as shoe polish, it matched the color of his leather jacket and boots. Solid and not too tall, he was well built. His eyes were deep brown and his crooked smile appealing. “I’ll take a cup of joe for me and my buddies,” he said softly. There was a smoothness to his voice you wouldn’t expect from a Harley guy.

He turned to walk back to the table, where a few of his buddies had already begun to approach the ladies. Bending over their table, two of the guys were obviously turning on the charm as you could see the ladies blushing and giggling. Except for the one gal. The leader. She looked bored. I did notice a change in her countenance when she saw the one who ordered coffee coming up to the table. Her eyes brightened, as she looked him up and down curiously. I couldn’t make out what he said, but whatever it was it obviously struck a chord as she stood up, put her hands on her hips, and said very loudly, “In your dreams!” Although her voice could be taken as angry, I suppose, her face said something completely different. She was smiling, and that twinkle was back in her eyes. She pushed through the others out the booth and walked over to the jukebox. The guys turned their heads to follow her backside.

Once again, Buddy Holly filled the air. She stood in the middle of the dance floor, shrugging her shoulders, and raising her hands, as if to ask, “Well, are you coming?” The guys and gals climbed out of the booths and began to spread out on the dance floor. I delivered their coffees to the table, left them to their music and headed into the back to get some pickles, chuckling to myself about the energy and enthusiasm of youth. Everything seems so new and fresh when you’re that age and you have your whole life ahead of you. I remembered fondly my own entrance into the big, wide world of adulthood. You soon realize how much responsibility there is being a grown up. You want freedom but then resent the commitment required to earn and keep it.

Grabbing the pickles, I headed back into the diner. The song selection had changed. No more high energy beat, rather there was a soft and easy sound pouring in. I couldn’t make out who the artist was, but I could see that a transformation had occurred while I was gone that short time. These strangers were now partnered up and moving slowly in each other’s arms. I immediately scanned the dance floor to find the two that intrigued me. The leaders. Interestingly, they looked the most comfortable of all. The most intimate. They were whispering something as they looked each other directly in the eyes, bodies pressed closely together. I looked away instinctively, feeling as if I were observing a moment meant only for two. I busied myself at the counter for a few minutes and then turned back to see what they were doing. I wondered if their encounter would emerge into something more than just a dance.

I watched the two of them make their way off the dance floor, toward the front door. The guy opened the door for her and turned to the group and said, “Keep dancing now, we’ll be back,” as he grinned. “Where are you going?” one of the girls asked. “Out for a walk, but we’ll be back soon, don’t worry,” the gal said with a flirtatious ring. Holding hands, they exited the diner. I couldn’t help but think something special had just happened here.

An encounter that just might last a lifetime.

Remembering Mom and Dad