How I Met Your Mother

(Before I get on with my post, one of you lucky readers today will be my blog's 1000th page view. Congratulations. The prize is a coupon for deep-fried butter at next year's CNE. Congratulations!)

Gather around kids and I'll tell you the story of how I met your mother 28 years ago today.

It was November 16, 1984. John Lennon was about to release "Every Man has a Woman Who Loves Him". The 14th Shuttle Mission Discovery 2 was scheduled to land at Kennedy Center. America was mourning the death of trombonist Vic Dickenson. And the landmark films Night of the Comet, Missing in Action, and Nightmare on Elm Street were freshly arriving in theatres.
But the story actually begins a few weeks before with one of my university roommates (you know who you are) telling me about a girl - roommate of his friend - who needed some math help. I said she should call me and I would give her some tutoring. She finally got around to making that call on Thursday November 15th.

A short phone call to set up a tutoring session became a long conversation as I condensed all of my charm and wit into a tiny little ball and squeezed it through the telephone wire (that's right, telephones had wires back then). I liked this girl; mostly because she laughed at everything I said. You see, kids, lasting relationships don't have to start with physical attraction. A voice, a laugh, an ego stroke now and then, and a prolonged dating slump can set the wheels in motion long before you've seen what someone looks like. I know, Daddy's deep.

We ended the call with an appointment to meet tomorrow (Friday the 16th) at the math library after classes. In one last flurry of whimsy, I sealed the date with "I'll be wearing a pink carnation." Ha ha.

That day I could barely concentrate in my classes - my mind wandering to my imminent mystery date / tutoring session; my heart palpitating with anticipation - but I somehow made it through. When classes were finally over, I rushed to the elevators and made my way to the library. The doors opened. And no one was there... (Or maybe I got there after she was already there. Who remembers? It was 28 years ago.)

I scanned the scene outside the library. Who was this algebraic femme fatale? Meanwhile, she would later tell me, she too scanned the scene looking for someone - anyone - with a pink carnation. 

Our eyes finally met. We introduced ourselves. And then we crossed the threshold of the library, books in hand, hearts in throats, ready to talk...math. I remember soft lighting, ambient music, wisps of smoke, and nuanced math exchanges about multiplication, integration, shapes and forms. She remembers me not being very helpful. But she also remembers knowing - KNOWING! - that I was the one she was going to marry.

When it was over, I walked her home, said goodnight, and made my way back to the school to get my bike. We had one more tutoring session before we started calling them dates. And the rest, my sweet daughters, is history.