This Day in (My) History
Sun., February 24, 12:36 PM
Forty years ago I expected New York to be my future. I loved the City; I worked there, and I was living there. Oh, sure, I often returned to Connecticut to see my parents. I enjoyed spending time with my sister, who enjoyed many of the same things I did. But I had absolutely no patience with her “singles groups.”
When I get together with a group of people I don’t know very well, I prefer people with whom I have some interest in common. We might be learning something together, or attending a sports event, or discussing politics — some thread that ties us together. Listening to music. Playing cards. D’you see what I’m getting at? Joining some group just for the sake of joining was never my thing.
Occasionally Sister would mention that she had met someone I went to school with, and my reaction would usually be “ew-w-w-w-w!” So when she mentioned that she met someone who wanted to go out with me, I didn’t pay much attention. Next day the phone rang, and a pleasant voice said, “This is H—.” What? “Didn’t your sister tell you about me?” Well, she hadn’t mentioned his name.
We arranged to have dinner the following weekend. He would pick me up at my parents’ house. Fine. He got lost and was late. When he finally arrived, you could tell he had been chain-smoking. (I would learn that he always smelled that way when he was nervous.) And off we went to find a restaurant; he had not made reservations anywhere. He was older than I, but not very sophisticated.
This man didn’t talk much, but he seemed happy to listen to me — at length. I remember trying to find out about him by his reactions to our surroundings; he certainly wasn’t about to share insights. (I know now — he was and still is shy.) He carefully asked what I wanted and told the waiter — good manners. But he was completely lost when it came time to order dessert. The menu offered things like cannoli and tiramisu; I murmured that spumoni would be fine. “Do you have any pie?” As I said, not very sophisticated. He settled for strawberry shortcake.
After dinner, he drove around until we found a place where we could dance. That is, the formal sort of dancing, with a partner, that I had learned years before. He was an accomplished partner (surprise!), and he liked the same songs I did. At least we had something in common.
Then he took me home, and I thought that was that. A pleasant evening, certainly, but not earth-shaking. I guess it depends on whose earth you’re talking about. He phoned me the next evening — and the next and the next. Long distance, mind you, and he was using a pay phone because he had no phone in his apartment. He couldn’t wait to see me again. How about the following weekend? He could pick me up at my parents’ house, because now he knew the way…
That first date was February 24, 1968. I don’t think there’s another soul who remembers that. You’ve probably guessed; I never again went out with anyone else. Attentive and unsophisticated, alone and needy — it was a winning combination. And it worked for a long time.
What I never expected was that my friend and companion would turn into my child. How do I manage a child, when I no longer have a partner to support me?
