Clockwise from lower left: Ron and Aileen, the anniversary couple; Michael, Ralph, Annie Mae, Cheryl, Kevin, and Colleen.
For those of us who are officially senior citizens, it’s an amazing privilege to be able to celebrate our parents’ anniversaries. I don’t know very many people who can enjoy this sort of event. But, on Thursday evening, I was honored to be present at my parents’ sixty-sixth anniversary. It was an early evening — we all need our sleep, at our ages — but it was festive, and the waitress at the restaurant went all out to take a good picture of us. (“Say, ‘Happy anniversary!’” she hollered before snapping this picture.) Later, at home, my mom beat Michael and me at Scrabble. At 87 and 85, my parents are still teaching me how to live a good life.
For those of us who have been through a number of significant relationships, perhaps even a divorce or two (or three), the prospect of spending 66 years with a companion is, well, fantastic. We can admire it. We can celebrate with them. But this particular achievement is beyond us, now.
Another long marriage was that of my dear friends Wil and Edna Morse, who were like parents for me during my first few months as a VISTA volunteer in West Virginia. Years later, shortly after Edna’s death, I had lunch with Wil. “Wil,” I complained, “you and Edna were married for more than half a century. No matter how wonderful a relationship I may find, I will never be able to do that. It’s too late.”
Wilbur shook his head sadly. “And I will never be able to lay claim to a string of affairs,” he said. “It’s too late.”
