A minister once told us we were “remarkable.”
He wanted to know something about the couple he would marry, and we told him how two military brats had met in an Alabama newsroom, became friends, and then decided to live happily ever after. I remember thinking we weren’t all that remarkable. I mean, people fall in love every day.
I suspect the minister, who had been married as long as I had been on the Earth, knew what we couldn’t have known at the time. Marrying someone of a different race was nothing compared to all the challenges we would later face — buying a house, the death of my mother, the births of Simone and Nadia, getting new jobs, selling a house.
There’s no way to articulate what couples are signing up for when the decide to marry. If you could, I have no doubt many couples folks would not get married.
It is amazing we get through each week with both girls and ourselves intact. It’s not always pretty. We often pinch hit. Ken will start an appointment while I finish work and then I will relieve him so he can go to work. There are drop offs and pick ups, a slew of appointments, deadlines for four. When it all seems too much the girls do or say something, and we laugh at and with them. Now that is what I call remarkable. Maybe that’s what the minister meant all along.