Our son Seth called us from Martha’s Vineyard the other night. It was his first visit to that beautiful island off the coast of Massachusetts, and he found it quite terrific.
I told Seth that I had fallen in love with his father during a weekend on Martha’s Vineyard about forty-six summers ago when we were camping there with some friends. It had rained very hard the first night, and I recall that, once it stopped, we gathered around a campfire. Peter was putting his wet sneakers on a rock close to the flames to dry.
It was as if I was hit by a ton of bricks because I suddenly realized that I was in love with that man drying his sneakers. I don’t know if it was watching him interact with his close friends, or what, that caused me to realize that he was the one for me.
Unfortunately, he was a little slower at falling in love with me, but the years have proved it was worth the wait.
After we finished our phone conversation with Seth, I asked Peter when he realized that he had fallen in love with me. I got this very blank stare. “No idea, he said.”