This week my parents celebrated their 41st wedding anniversary and each day since they have been teasing each other by recalling where they would be on their road trip honeymoon. “Meet you in Colorado Springs,” my dad calls out to my mom as he heads to his chiropractor appointment.
Their celebration makes me recall a photo I took of their hands clasped together, my mother’s wedding ring peeking out from behind my father’s fingers.
Often when we think of love, especially anniversaries or holidays, we tend to think of large romantic gestures. Yet, when I look at the love I was raised on, I see something much more simple and honest. I see two people holding hands and laughing over good memories. While discussing our plan for the next few days with my mom, I notice my dad reach over to lightly tickle her leg and immediately remember her story from their college theatre class. I asked her once when she first knew that she loved my dad. She recalled standing by his desk, while he chatted with someone else but reached over and lightly tickled her leg.
When I think of their love, I recall the time they left my sister and I on the beach to play at our favorite camping site, while he pulled the boat along the shore and sang to my mom lounging in the bow. I complained and he scolded me, didn’t I want them to be in love? Yes, I am blessed to be raised on their love. I think about my mom praying #13 when my dad struggled at work and the way she can fuss over him to make sure he is happy. Their love isn’t papered on a billboard, shared for likes and comments, covered with the cliche roses, chocolates, and jewelry. Their love is lived-in, built out of touch, time, and simple kindness.