I was asked how I met my husband Steve. It's a romantic story in some ways--blind date, young love that has lasted more than forty years. It's also got its lessons.
I loved the dances at Rainbow Gardens. So many people, so much music! It didn't matter where you went to school. Once you walked through those doors you were transported to a land where everybody was your friend. Rock and roll was king. Rivalries disappeared.
On that warm night in October, 1967 a friend was bored and asked if I wanted to go to the dance at Rainbow Gardens. Of course! In those days, as now, I never turned down the chance to dance whether I had a sense of rhythm or not (I still don't). She and I spent an hour getting ready and persuaded my dad to drive us. The crowd was immense, and Rainbow Gardens was not famous for its quality air conditioning.
Let me tell you just a bit about the Gardens. First of all, "Gardens" brings to mind lush greenery and flowers in bloom. Well, maybe when there is a floral show going on. Other than that, it is a large non-descript building with a few trees, a few plants and bushes and a large asphalt parking lot that still could stand to be resurfaced. It sits on the west side of Waldameer, our wonderful local amusement park. You can go through the park to get there, or you can cruise down a long, tree-lined driveway that ends at the doors of Rainbow Gardens. You can still walk in for free at Waldameer and enjoy the sights and sounds even if you don't want to be terrorized by the rides. Anyway, the Gardens isn't much to look at, but inside is a different story. I've see it transformed into a prom setting, a winter formal, an orchid show and an antique sale plus everything in between. A grand time is had by all, I've heard people say.
On this night, it was just a teen dance. There was a disc jockey from a local radio station--Randy Michaels, I think. There were snacks and drinks and decorations. We danced until we could dance no more. In the cooler breezeway we stood, waiting for somebody else to ask us to dance. We were too shy to ask a fella on our own.
Well, sure enough, two boys approached us. One was almost comically shy, the other with a confidence shown only rarely at that age. "Aren't you Marilyn?" the confident one asked, and I recognized him in an instant. He was my cousin Frank who had moved away to southeastern Pennsylvania a few years before. We had been close as kids, and he was back! His friend was Casey, he said, and the four of us hung out the rest of the evening. Casey was a little too shy for me, not speaking unless spoken to, and Frank and Janet never did hit it off. It was fun anyway.
It was a week later, on a Friday night, that I heard from Frank again. He had a fellow he wanted me to meet, and would I fix him up with one of my friends? Sure! We would go to a football game, he said. Fine with me. I called Linda, of course. Disaster time. That was not a match made in Heaven.
When I saw Steve, however, that was a different story. Beatle-long dark hair, snug Farahs and an attitude, cigarette dangling, hands in his pockets of the North East High School letter-sweater he wore. He was like the hoods in the movies, the bad boy with a heart of gold. He had a look, a smile, that made me babble. That was just the outside. Inside, he was sweet and shy. I liked him instantly. It was Friday, October 13th.
When we got back to my house, Linda made me promise never to set her up with Frank again. Frank asked me to PLEASE find him another date. And Steve? Well, we exchanged numbers and he asked me out again. Unfortunately, I had a date already for that day. How about Saturday, then? he said. And I said yes. The first time he kissed me good-night I forgot to turn out the lights and lock the door; I tripped over the dog as I stumbled to my room. We got married on October 24, 1970.
The next week, I fixed up Frank with my friend Winnie. They eventually married and had a family. Steve and I fixed up Linda with Steve's cousin Anthony which again was not a good thing. Linda was about to forbid me to fix her up ever again when we introduced her to Tim. That was more like it. After a couple of tries, we gave up on Anthony. He moved to Rochester and found the love of his life there.
That chance meeting at Rainbow Gardens has brought at least eight children and lots of grandkids into this world. In spite of sorrows along the way, it was worth it.
Steve and I have been together since that night. There are days when the humdrum of daily life gets to us. His green eye almost glows when he is angry, his brown eye gets almost black. We scream at each other and then feel bad. His mostly-Sicilian temper and my German-Italian heritage are almost certain fireworks. We storm out of the room or the house, but we find our way back. Then his expression softens, and I know he loves me and always will. Oh, yes, I had crushes in those early days, but Steve always came out on top.
There is love, and there is love. When we live our day-to-day lives I sometimes forget about the excitement of meeting him that first time. It's easy, after more than forty years, to forget four proms, a couple of winter formals, a gross of semi-formals, dinners and football games. We forget about Trooper Gerard sneaking up on us at the beach, shining his flashlight in our car, looking for booze and finding only four surprised teens watching the submarine races.
Today Steve got the lawn mower fixed after it nearly drowned in our shed full of water from the spring rains. It was getting hot, the grass was thick and high from the recent wet and heat. I came to the door just as he staggered to the steps. He was sweating, his face pale and his hands shaking. I thought at first he was in the midst of a heat stroke or something more dire. I panicked, but tried not to show my concern too much. Two men of his age whom we knew had died in the past week. What if I lost him?
That was a revelation for me. In spite of the times I was ready to chop him up in little pieces and feed him to the coyotes; in spite of the days when we lose our tempers; in spite of the days when his political ideas drive me crazy--I love this man. He is the one who has always been there for me. He is the father of my very special sons. It is Steve who holds me close when we dance, or when I am hurting. It is Steve who holds my hand in church and who surprised me with my first-ever new car ( I was planning to buy an Omni. When I went to pick it up, instead of the ugly little beast, there was a shiny white Shadow Sun Coupe with silver on the sides and a sun-roof on top. He had ordered it especially for me, calling the salesman after he found out I was going to settle for the Omni.). He doesn't care if I can't dance or if I don't feel like cooking. He doesn't read my blog unless I shove it under his nose.
He isn't sure if he likes the re-defined me sometimes, but he isn't objecting too loudly.
He still tells me I look "hot" when we go out.
What a guy!
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