Thirty-seven years ago today I got married. We had been engaged for three-and-a-half months, and had spent the summer in Fontainebleau, France, studying with Nadia Boulanger. When we arrived back in the States, we went straight to Madison, Wisconsin, where he started his Master's program at the University of Wisconsin. I went back to Orlando, and we decided to go ahead and get married. I didn't know what else to do—I didn't have the job I thought was waiting for me at Walt Disney World and I was burned out on school after the summer with Mlle. Boulanger. Just get married. Why not?
We had been apart for three weeks when he flew home for the wedding. I picked him up at the airport. When he stepped off the plane, I didn't recognize him at first. Then when I recognized him, I wondered what on earth I was doing. It was two days until my wedding. Wedding? I didn't really like this man. What was I doing getting married? I was 21 years old and totally clueless about life.
I toyed with the idea of cancelling the wedding. After all, it was a very small affair, to be held in my parents' home with only about 20 guests. But to cancel the wedding would be too embarrassing. And besides, all his friends from his church on Merritt Island said he shouldn't marry me, so I was bound and determined to prove them wrong.
Wow! All the right reasons to get married.
Two weeks into the marriage I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life. Ten years later I finally got up my courage to leave. In the interim, I had two wonderful sons. I wouldn't trade them for any other possible life. They've taught me so much about life.
But, oh, how I envy people who get married for the right reasons the first time around.
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