That's right, my wedding anniversary falls on Father's day every seven years. Seven years ago today, I married Melissa Brunner in a field with cows looking on solemnly. She looked like a faerie princess in her wedding dress, and she sang me a song about how great life was going to be. (She was right.)
I made a lot of extravagant promises about sickness and health, and then we put on rings and had a party in a barn. It was a lot more appropriate than it sounds. Our twin sons even danced at our wedding, which probably sounds a little trashy to some of you, but they weren't our sons back then, so, you know, it's all very normal.
She's amazing. I don't really know why she married me, but she did. We agreed not to get each other presents, so today all I gave her was a bag of chocolate-chip cookies--I owed her one, 'cuz I demolished her super-secret stash the other day. Later this week, when she least expects it, though--BAM! Present city comin' down on ya. See, your wife can say she doesn't want a present on her anniversary, but she's still going to think about what you might get her. She's going to wonder whether you'll really refrain from buying a present this year. It's best if you don't.
Some time this week, I'll get out and go shooting. But today was my anniversary and Father's Day, and time just slips away too fast. Watching the baby change every day has made me realize that the boys are changing daily, too, even if I sometimes don't notice it. They're almost 11 years old now . . . . they'll be out on their own in no time. There will only be a few more Father's Days with my boys before they're my men.
100 Years On – Passchendaele
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