Our Story, Part IX

(Go here for Part VIII.)

Dan came to visit me one weekend in June of 1995. It was June 24th, to be exact. I figured this would be THE weekend. You know, his proposal? Because it was the last time we’d see each other before our trip to Dad’s wedding the following weekend.

For some reason I can’t remember, his parents were in Columbia that night too. That was odd, and I was convinced it was because he was going to propose at dinner. I was on pins and needles all through dinner. And then we paid the bill. And then we left. And still no ring. My mind continued spinning ideas of the proposal. I thought that maybe he’d drive me to campus to propose at the Columns. But we were heading away from campus in his car. Ugh! The suspense was killing me. I kind of just gave up and stopped trying to second guess for a little while. I remember being in the car and asking him if he had written to me in our notebook (the one that we would write back and forth to each other in). He said that he had, and I asked him where it was. I wanted to read it right there in the car. He said to wait and he’d get it when we got to my apartment.

My next memory of that night is going into my apartment and into my room to talk. I remember Dan sitting on my bed, and asking me to get him something to drink. Ah ha! That’s when my suspicions went on red alert because he would never have asked me to do that if something wasn’t up. (I would have just told him, “Go get it yourself!” Ah, true love.) So I agreed to get him some water, and went to the fridge. I made sure to take my time and be noisy, so he could prepare just in case he was getting something ready. Ha, ha.

I brought the water back to my room, and he was still sitting on the bed. The only difference was he had our notebook on the bed. Uh, okay. I gave him his water and sat down to open the notebook. And here is what I found:
Of course, I immediately squealed and probably said something like, “Really?!” He pulled out a ring box and opened it and said, “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?” I hugged him and squealed again and said yes. Oh, my heart was overflowing by this point. Pure happiness! I was especially thrilled with the ring. We had looked at rings together previously, but this one was different than other settings I had seen. It was way better than I ever imagined, and I was so happy to wear a ring that he picked out on his own for me. After a moment, I ran to my roommate’s door and knocked. In her usual can’t-be-bothered style, she opened her door and said pretty dully, “He proposed, didn’t he?” I said yes, and she smiled and hugged me and ooohed and aaahed over the ring then went back to her room. Then Dan and I made the obligatory phone calls and told my family and his family.

I will be forever grateful that Dan proposed to me in this way. I am still so happy to have his proposal on paper, in a place that I’ll never forget. He knew me so well, and knew how very much I like the written word. He used the best way he knew how to commit his life to me. I couldn’t ask for more!

So here’s the question: does Our Story need to continue? There’s still so much more I could tell you about planning our wedding while we were separated, moving in together, our first big fight (as a married couple), losing my engagement ring, moving to a new town, having babies, and all the ensuing details. I’ll have to ponder whether the story should stop here, or continue on. I think the true question is this: are there more details my kids might want to know one day? Because this story is truly for them.

Our Story, Part VIII

(Go here for Part VII.) Y'all thought I forgot about Our Story, didn't you? Even though it's been a hectic last month, there's still lots to tell. So here we go!

Fast forward to the end of 1993. My parents had split up in mid-1993, and it was a rough year emotionally for me. But Dan stuck by me throughout all the turmoil. That doesn’t mean I didn’t try to mess things up by breaking up with him or playing games with him (testing his love for me). I did lots of that silly stuff. Thank God that Dan was forgiving enough and willing to put up with all of it.

The start of 1994 was when our relationship deepened. I look back through our notebook and our photos, and it was a time of gooey romanticism, date parties, and studying together. That summer was spent apart while I interned at a TV station in Atlanta. The end of 1994 was Dan’s last semester in college, and he graduated right before Christmas. Christmas break was a roller coaster: my first niece was born, and I met Maureen (my future stepmother).

1995 was even crazier. Dan had moved two hours away to Kansas City for his first job, and I was still in school. I was incredibly lovesick for him, and missed him so deeply. I was juggling my last year of school and a job, and we spent every weekend traveling back and forth visiting each other. Our phone bills were pretty big, and the distance tested our relationship because we had to put a lot of work into communicating in new ways.

That May, my parents’ divorce was final. Dad got engaged to Maureen, and the wedding was planned for July 1. It was going to be a very small wedding, with only relatives invited. Dad said I wasn’t allowed to bring Dan with me unless we were engaged by their wedding day. So when it came time to make my airline reservations, I asked Dan if he was going with me. (How’s that for putting him on the spot? I already knew we were going to be getting engaged at some point, but not when.) He said that he would be going with me, so I knew an engagement was pending.

In May, I also “graduated” from college (that means I walked through the ceremony, but I still had summer school to finish before I was done). Dad and Dan saw me walk across the stage to accept my diploma, then had to hustle to catch Dad’s flight before the ceremony was over. On the way to the airport, Dan asked Dad for my hand in marriage. I knew Dan was planning to ask (I told him there’s no way I’d marry him if he didn’t ask Dad first), and was so excited when he returned from the airport that night and told me he had asked – and that Dad had given his blessing. Then I sat back (or tried to) and waited (or tried to).

I knew Dan was going to propose during one of our weekend visits. And since there weren’t very many weekends left before July 1, I spent every weekend waiting for some romantic proposal to catch me off guard.

Find out what happens (C’mon, as if you don’t already know!) in Part IX of Our Story.

Our Story, Part VII

(Go here for Part VI.)

I’ll try not to bore you with all the petty details of 1993, my first year with Dan. But there are a few points worth mentioning.

After my trip to Israel in March 1993, Dan and I started a little ritual. I bought a notebook in Israel, and decided to use it to write Dan every few days. I would write a note in it, then pass it to him. He'd write me back, then pass it to me. It's been missing in our house for a few years, but I FINALLY found it yesterday, stuffed into a trunk where Dan keeps all the letters I've ever written to him. It's interesting to read and see how insecure I was about Dan's love for me. If I had only known that his love would be one of the few constants in my life, our early years together would have been so much more enjoyable! Hmmm. Anyway, this notebook chronicles our breakups and makeups, poetry we wrote to each other, silly nicknames (Tigerpaw?!), external events, funny comic strips, worries, and the growth of our friendship. On July 25, 1993, I wrote: "You have loved me harder, longer, and sweeter than anyone has in my whole life and I am so grateful for that!" We were so silly in love with each other sometimes and so crazy stupid other times, when we almost messed things up pretty badly.

One of those times can be summed up with one word: lavalier. (I know Dan is groaning as he reads that word.) First, let me explain. A lavalier is a pendant with a sorority or fraternity’s Greek letters on it. Not a big deal. Except that when a guy gives a girl his lavalier, that’s kind of like a pre-pre-engagement. Not as engaged as a diamond ring nor as pre-engaged as a fraternity pin, the lavalier comes before a pin or a ring. It kind of just means that you’re really really going steady. Silly, huh? Seems like it now, 15 years after the MAJOR fights I picked with Dan over the stupid lavalier. We even broke up over it because he wouldn’t give me his stinkin’ lavalier and therefore I assumed that meant he didn’t want to commit and didn’t love me and all that boo-hoo drama.

And then, finally, that October Dan lavaliered me. We were having dinner at Katy Station, a nice restaurant in Columbia. I was thrilled and overjoyed, and I’m sure he was dreading it because of all the stuff frat boys do to each other after they lavalier a girl. Like tying them to a ladder in their underwear, pouring dinner leftovers on them, parading them through Greek Town, then leaving the poor guy on the front lawn of the girlfriend’s sorority house. Luckily, Dan avoided that because he didn’t live at the fraternity house by that point. Phew!My sorority had a candlelighting ceremony where I announced my lavaliering, then I wore that lavalier everywhere. (See it in the photo?) I loved knowing that I was Dan’s and that he was mine.

Check back later for Part VIII of Our Story! And if you start writing your own version of Our Story (like Catrina did), let me know because I'd love to read it!

Our Story, Part VI

(Go here for Part V.)

For the next few months, things were busy. I was concentrating on studying and holding two officer positions in my sorority, but Dan and I were still going strong. I went to Israel with Dad on Spring Break in March 1993 (see the photo of me and Dad in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre), and was lovesick the entire time. Can you believe it? I spent a whole week in Israel pining for a boy?! If I had only known he was going to marry me one day, I would have stopped fretting that he wouldn’t miss me while we were apart and dump me when I returned. Ah, what a waste.

But our relationship wasn’t without hiccups. About two months after we started dating, we broke up for the first time on March 29, 1993. (Thank God I kept track of this silly stuff in my diary, or else y’all would be so bored!) The breakup lasted only three days. In May of 1993, I wrote this in my diary: “You know what I think the greatest thing is about him? He’s one of my best friends – I love that.”

When the semester ended in May 1993, Mom drove up to Mizzou to get me. Dan came back home to Georgia with me for about a week, which was pretty cool (the photo is from his visit). I was home for probably only a month before I returned to Mizzou for summer school. Turns out that little break at home was the last time I would be home while my parents were still together. They split up at the end of June 1993. Of course, I was devastated.

Hindsight is 20/20, and now I know that Dan was brought into my life at a certain point for a reason. God is always faithful, isn’t He? He knew that I wasn’t ready to connect with the love of my life in the first semester of school. No wonder we had that embarrassing fiasco (being the forward person I am) the first time I met Dan. It just wasn’t time. I needed to make a few more mistakes and get my head screwed on right before I could be ready for Dan. God knew that. Dan didn’t come into my life a moment too soon. It was just nine days after we started dating that I got the call my Grandfather had died. And Dan was there when I got the news that Mom had been diagnosed with lupus. Most importantly, he was the rock I leaned on when Mom and Dad separated – and he was the rock I clung to during the two years it took them to officially divorce. It was a nasty split, and I was thrown into the middle of it. Thank God Dan was there for me.

You know, there are still more details. Of course. Check back later for Part VII.

Our Story, Part V

(Go here for Part IV.)


That Friday night was January 29, 1993. My last night of being 18. Dan picked me up at my dorm, and we went back to his fraternity house to pre-party before going out to another party. The phone rang at his house, and it was for me. My roommate told me there was a package waiting for me at the dorm’s front desk. I told her I’d get it later, or maybe the next day. She said I had to come get it now – it was too big for the front desk to store overnight. What?! So Dan had to drive me back to the dorm to get the package.

I walked into the dorm, and there was a HUMONGOUS refrigerator box sitting in the middle of the lobby. It had my name and address written on it, in my mother’s handwriting. And all of a sudden, it moved. Then it started lifting itself up, and then one of my best friends from high school popped out from under it. My friend Sheila was in the box! I hugged her and squealed, then my parents appeared from behind a corner, videotaping it all. What a laugh! I hugged them, then introduced Dan. And that, my friends, is how Dan was ambushed into my family.

Sheila joined us that night and we all went to a party at the AEII fraternity house, along with some of my sorority sisters. Here’s another excerpt from my diary: “I got sort of quiet because it hit me about how much I care for Dan and also that I was about to be 19. He thought he had done something wrong and I just said I realized how much I needed him. He said he finally realized something also but he wasn’t sure if he should say it. So I said nothing and waited. He finally told me he loves me… Then I got so excited because I realized he must really love me. I mean, he waited until he was sure and until he felt it was right. He didn’t say it just to say it or because I said it.”

So simple, so matter-of-fact. He handed his heart to me on a silver platter, the best birthday present I’ve ever received. (Although the diamond studs he gave me for my 30th are pretty awesome too.)

The next day was my birthday, and my first “official” date with Dan. I had my camera with me since my friend Sheila was visiting, so I am one of the rare people who has a photo of herself and her husband on their first date. Good Lord, we were so young!

Check back later for Part VI.

Our Story, Part IV

(Go here for Part III.)

After that night at the fraternity party with Dan, we spent the next day (Sunday) together. I don’t remember much about it. I’m sure we studied or ate or did something fun together. Who knows! But I do remember the next night, Monday.

After classes, I invited Dan to my dorm room to study with me. (Boys were allowed in your room, but only until a certain hour.) We studied a bit, but I think we did more talking than studying. Here’s what I wrote in my diary about that day: “I told him to look into my eyes and tell me what I felt for him. So he looked into my eyes for a few seconds and asked, ‘Do you love me?’ I was completely awed! I mean, he knew! He guessed without me saying a word! I think that shows how close I think we are, doesn’t it?”

PUT THE BRAKES ON! Wow! Can you believe I actually told the guy I loved him after only “truly” knowing him for two days?! Aack! Even now, I don’t think I knew what I was saying. I might have felt infatuated by him, but I had no idea what love was at the time. (At least not compared to what I know now.)

In any case, Dan did not respond in kind. Here’s the conclusion of what I wrote in my diary: “So I told him, but he didn’t say anything back. That sort of upset me at the moment, but I realized later that it’s good he didn’t say ‘those words’ back because then he wouldn’t have meant them. By not saying it, he showed me how honest he is and that he wouldn’t say something just to say it if he didn’t truly feel it. The next morning when I got up, I thought about what I said and I realized that I was happy I had done it. Then I realized the biggest thing of all: I must truly care a whole heck of a lot for him because it didn’t bother me anymore that he didn’t say ‘I love you’ back. And that’s how I know this is real (for me, at least).”

The rest of that week was spent pretty much glued to each other’s hips. We met at the library to study and talk, and spent all our free time together. We made plans for our first real date that coming weekend, which was also the weekend of my 19th birthday. We were going to a different fraternity party on Friday night, then Saturday was the big date. He had asked me to go on his fraternity’s date party. However, it didn’t go quite as planned.

Check back later for Part V.

Our Story, Part III

(Go here for Part II.)

The rest of my first semester in college was spent going to class, socials, and exploring the campus. Every now and then I’d run in to Dan at some party or a sorority function (he knew a lot of girls in my house and ended up going to a lot of my date parties). At first, I was so completely embarrassed to see him. I had thrown myself at him and gotten rejected. When I first started running in to him, I’d kind of give a sheepish smile and bolt out of his presence as soon as possible. After a little while, it kind of turned into a shrug and a wave, but not much else.

The semester ended and I went home for Christmas. I got my grades, which weren’t so hot. They weren’t awful (a 3.21 GPA), but I knew I was capable of much more – and I better start performing if I was going to get into the Journalism School. When I started my second semester, I vowed to clean up my act. No more dating, and I needed to scale back my social calendar.

Over Christmas break, my sorority pledge mom and her long-term boyfriend (Dan’s fraternity brother) had broken up. She came back to school broken-hearted, and knew there was a party that very first weekend between the Phi Psis and another fraternity. She wanted “revenge” of sorts, so she talked me and two of my pledge sisters into going to the party. Here’s a photo of us before we went out that night. The date was January 23, 1993.

Pretty much as soon as we walked into the door of the party, my pledge mom and her boyfriend were back together. So that left me and my two pledge sisters to our own devices. We started mingling and met some guys, and started dancing after a while. I was dancing with this guy Kyle (also a Phi Psi), and we had been dancing together for quite a few songs. After a bit, this girl comes up and says to him, “I’m going to tell Misty what you’re doing!!!” I said, “Whoa! Who was that?!” And he replied, “My girlfriend’s roommate.” Oops. I told him he better get a move on, and he high-tailed it out of there.

That left me by myself in the middle of a song, while my friends were off dancing with other boys they had met. I went over and stood against the wall, feeling so out of place. After a few minutes, that Dan guy walked up and said hello, and asked if I wanted to dance. Of course I said yes, because I had gotten over most of my embarrassment by then. I think the first song we ever danced to was “Birdhouse in Your Soul” by They Might Be Giants. And the second song was the epic “American Pie” by Don McLean.

Dan and I had a great time dancing and talking, and we stayed up until around 3am. It was a great night, and we hit it off from there.

Check back later for Part IV.

Our Story, Part II

(Go here for Part I.)

That Friday was September 25, 1992. The very first memory I have of Dan is that I was standing on the lawn of the fraternity house (an old cattle plantation house) in the dark during a party. I was there with sorority sisters, talking to the Phi Psi brothers, and remember being introduced to this guy named Dan. I thought he was pretty cute, and kind of talked to him for a bit, jockeying for a spot next to him. After talking for a few minutes, he said he needed to go inside to get a drink.

And THIS is where the story veers off the path for a moment, because Dan HATES it when I tell the story in chronological order. He hates that I leave a very important detail until the end, so for posterity’s sake (and to appease my sweet husband), for once I’ll give the “punch line” now. Then you’ll see how it fits in later.

The important detail is that, unbeknownst to me, Dan had a girlfriend at the time. Dinah was her name. Nice girl. I ended up getting to know her later, and she married one of Dan’s frat brothers too. But that’s neither here nor there.

So here I am, on the front lawn of a frat house, trying to talk to this very cute guy. He says he needs to go inside, and I (being the forward person I am) suggest that I go with him. He kind of hemmed and hawed for a moment, but I went with him anyway. Of course I didn’t go by myself! I took my pledge sister Julie with me. We went upstairs and Dan led us out onto the roof so we could overlook the party. We sat down, and I was in the middle between Dan and Julie. After talking for a bit, I (being the forward person I am) reached down and held Dan’s hand. That went on for a little bit longer, then he said he needed to go inside to get another drink. Julie and I decided to wait outside for him. But after a while, we realized he wasn’t coming back. I could see through the house windows that he was talking to some other people who had brought the party inside. I dragged Julie inside too, and sidled on up to Dan as if I owned him. He was talking to some other girl, and I needed to “stake my claim.” So I tried to get in on their conversation (being the forward person that I am), but realized he wasn’t really responding to me. After a while, I pulled Dan aside and said, “Hey, do you want me to just leave you alone?” He kind of shrugged, so I realized I had been dissed and I told Julie it was time for us to leave. And that was that.

Here’s where the important detail comes in. That girl he was talking to? Yep. That was Dinah. Wow. (Of course, I didn’t know that until a LONG time later.)

Check back later for Part III.

Our Story, Part I

One day, I would like for my kids to know the story of how their parents met. And I'd like for it to be relatively clear to them, not muddled up in their minds (like the story of my parents is - they met under a beer garden table? Huh?). So my plan is to bore the heck out of the 9 blog readers I have, and write Our Story - in installments. Humor me, okay y'all? It's for my babies!

So... here we go!

I grew up in Georgia, in a suburb of Atlanta called Marietta. It's the Home of the Big Chicken. Yep. It's a "big chicken." Really. (We're pretty descriptive in the South.) Anyway... this is not My Story, is it? I'll try to move quickly onto the "Our" part, but you gotta have a little background to understand the "how."

I decided I wanted to be a journalist when I grew up, and work in TV news. So I went to the University of Missouri-Columbia, the best broadcast journalism school in the nation. Ahem. I had lived my whole life in Georgia (with the exception of my first 3 months or so), and heading off to school in Missouri without anyone nearby was both terrifying and exciting. I had no one to answer to but me. Yeehaw! Here's a photo of me and some of my "posse" (ha!) on the day I left for Mizzou:

I went through sorority rush, and pledged Alpha Omicron Pi. Those first few months were a blur for me, going a little wild spreading my wings and finding myself. I remember lots of parties, sorority date nights and meeting so many new people. About a month after school started, my sorority participated in the Phi Kappa Psi philanthropy event. A philanthropy event is the fundraiser for that sorority or fraternity's cause. (My sorority's cause is rheumatoid arthritis.) Each Greek philanthropy lasts about a week, during which there are silly events for raising money. The Phi Psi 500 required participating sororities to do things like an obstacle race, buy event t-shirts, perform serenades & skits, and decorate our sorority house. This is a photo I took of our house the week we did the Phi Psi 500:

When a sorority does a fraternity's philanthropy, they get two or three frat members assigned to them as their "coach" or liasion or whatever. When AOII (my sorority) did the "Phi Psi 500," we had three coaches assigned. One of them was this guy named Dan. I think he was only our coach in title, not in presence because he was busy that week with school work. So I didn't meet him until Friday night of that week, at a party on the Phi Psi house front lawn. This is where the "Our" part of the story starts.

Check back later for Part II.