We all have those days in our lives that stand out, that we always remember, that sometimes changed everything.
I remember the Kennedy assassination…we came in from recess and our teacher came into the room crying. Walter Cronkite could barely control his emotions as he filled us in on the details of that grim day in Dallas.
I remember watching the broadcast of the first walk on the moon, at my friend, Ken Gregory’s, house, with Rick Brittin, and Ricky McFarland.
The space shuttle explosion, the murder of John Lennon, the tearing down of the Berlin wall…all vivid memories.
But there was a day I’m the summer of 1972 that turned everything around.
August 10, I had just rung the doorbell to the house where Wendy Wright lived.
It was to be our first date, movie and Kips Big Boy.
It wasn’t my first first date.
But, when Wendy came to the door, if I hadn’t been trying so hard to be cool, I probably would have stuttered like an idiot. She was the prettiest first date I ever had.
Turns out, it was the last first date I ever had.
Her last one, too.
We didn’t know when we got into the car, that we would spend the rest of our lives together.
We were married on December 30…the same year.
I’m glad I kept my cool.
Or, did I?