February is the month of hearts and cupids. Unfortunately, I’m a rather vapid valentine. I’m allergic to chocolate, so a heart shaped box of candy is as good as a death wish. Flowers are ok, but they don’t stay fresh for more than a few days and then they die. That disturbs me. Greeting cards are good, but knowing that someone got paid to come up with the lovely heart-felt script inside is a little weird.
What’s a guy like PB to do?
I know what I’m going to do: this month, in honor of St. Valentine, I’ll share a few scenes from our own personal Love Story.
Episode #1: The Tent
PB and I met at a church event. My brother was the youth leader for the weekend so I went along for the ride. Within five minutes of our arrival on Friday, I was keenly aware that the pastor’s son was ca-uuuute. We spent the weekend learning about God and trying to impress each other, and then exchanged addresses before leaving on Sunday.
After a few months of writing letters to each other, he suggested coming to see me. Did I mention I was 14? And he was 16? And he had to take a bus 180 miles? And that he planned to stay for a week? My poor father didn’t quite know what to do.
Even as a teenager, PB was resourceful and charming. He pitched a tent in our backyard. Yes he did. And he played his harmonica outside my bedroom window. It’s true. The one night it rained, my dad let the boy sleep on the porch. But I bet all the doors were locked.
The guy in the tent in my backyard started winning my heart in 1974.