This summer, I posted this picture to Instagram with the caption “This guy. Stalking me since 1990.”
It was a funny joke, because my husband and I met in 6th grade, in the fall of 1990, when we were both about to turn 12. And, he liked me then.
He never really stopped.
We did not know when we met that adolescence would fly by, that it was just ten years until our wedding. We could not have imagined the things we’d outlast.
In 8th grade we were “boyfriend and girlfriend” (he finally won me over!) and that lasted over a year, long enough for us to be on Homecoming Court as freshmen in high school.
A few weeks later, he broke my heart.
We both dated other people in high school, but we were always friends, somehow. Because through it all, part of me always knew he had my heart. And I still liked him.
I never really stopped.
Halfway through our senior year, he asked me to be his girlfriend, again.
I will be honest, I knew at that moment that if I said yes, I would be saying it forever.
We married at 22. And as we and our love have grown older (I just turned 40, and, he likes to remind me every darn day that he is still 39 for ___ more weeks [currently 5 more]), and in March our marriage will turn 18.
Our love has outlasted a LOT. Most notably, many of the places where that love grew.
It has outlasted the Friendly’s restaurant and ice cream shoppe that we visited after every basketball game our senior year of high school. It closed probably 15 years ago. It has outlasted the Christian book store where we went on just about every date so my music-obsessed boyfriend could pick up a new CD. The last one of those closed just here recently.
