This is a story of true love. A story of endurance. Of sticking by each other through good times and bad, and in sickness and in health, till death do them part.
This is the story of my parents.
Gus and Marge.
I wish I could ask my parents to fill in some of the missing pieces, but both of them are gone, and all our aunts and uncles are gone, too, except one.
I do know that my mother was introduced to my father through his sister, Josephine, who worked at the same factory as my mother. Josephine had said, "You have just got to meet my brother!"
The missing piece? What my mother felt when she first saw my father, and where they went on their first date.
Obviously they hit it off!
I think my father's family had a bit of a hard time accepting my mother. You see, my father was Italian, with dark hair and brown eyes.
My mother was Irish, and had blue eyes.
Blue eyes? Irish? Tsk, Tsk! Family members said the marriage would never last.
My parents proved them wrong. They were married 55 years; until my Dad died.
It was obvious that my parents loved each other; like I said, they were married for 55 years, AND they had 6 children. But what we, as children, seldom get a chance to see, is our parents in love.
I got that opportunity when I found this mystery box among all the boxes I was unpacking from the storage unit. It was filled with so many wonderful things (which I will write about in another post), but the most treasured item was a diary from 1940 - the year my parents got married.
My father began the journal and wrote in it until the middle of February. It was then passed to my Mother sometime and she began writing in April, the month they were married. She wrote in it faithfully every day. Can you imagine being able to look back into your parent's first year of marriage?
When I first stumbled upon the precious little book, I brought it up to my nose and inhaled the mustiness of the pages. Next I gently brushed my fingers across the written pages.
First where my Dad wrote, then where Mom wrote. Their hands had touched these very same pages - 72 years ago! My father was a mere 24 years of age - my mother was 21. It was so hard to picture them that young, especially since I have children older than that!
I don't know where my father worked at that time, because he ended up working as a carpenter for 40 years. But he probably started working in a factory. My mother worked for Zenith, testing circuit boards. She told me a story once of how one day she received such an electric shock that it felt like someone had smacked her real hard between the shoulder blades. She looked over at the young guy sitting next to her and asked, "What did you do that for?" Meanwhile, the shock caused my mother's screwdriver to fly out of her hands and hit the back of her boss's head - who happened to be walking by! Sounds like an episode straight out of "I Love Lucy", doesn't it?
TO BE CONTINUED