How did you meet Mom?

It’s Saturday morning at Oscar and Dolores’s house. Their son Bill is installing a storage cabinet he designed and built for his mother’s craft room. Oscar is in his easy chair watching Matlock.

           Bill has just finished turning the last screw on the lid and sommons his mother to come take a look.  When Dolores enters the room, Bill pulls the contraption out from the wall like a built-in draw. He flips up the lid and gesturs with his hand, “Well? What do you think? Do you like how it looks?” His eyes sparkle as he waits for her praise. Clasping her hands to her chest, Dolores’s mouth forms the shape of a Cheerio. “Oooo! It’s perfect!” she coos. Grinning, Bill proceeds to show her how it is set up.

           “See all these tiny dowels glued to the bottom? They're for your spools of thread! And this long holder on the side that is wide at one end and narrow on the other? Well, that will hold two pairs of sheers.” Bill installed the storage box in the old linen closet.  He scrutinizes the remaining space, “Mom, is there any other way that you might want to use the rest of the closet?” Dolores holds her right elbow with her left hand rests her chin between her thumb and forefinger. Staring at the closet, she “Hmms.” I’ve always wanted a place to store all our old pictures and albums. Perhaps some kind of an organizer would help? What do you think, Bill?” Protruding his bottom lip, Bill shrugs. “How many albums and pictures are we talking about?” Dolores turns and crooks her finger for Bill to follow. “There are some boxes in my walk-in. Just follow me.” They pass through the living room, but Oscar is blind to them. Matlock has his total attention. Bill takes down two shipping cardboard boxes, which are chock-full of pictures. 

“Holy cow, Ma! How many pictures did you guys take?” Dolores chuckles. ‘Those aren’t all ours. Some belonged to both of your grandparents.  Your father and I didn't have siblings, so we inherited all their pictures when your grandparents died. Some of them go all the way back to the old country!”

Bill carries the two boxes out into the kitchen one at a time. His mother starts pulling out the albums and placing them on the table. “I think most of these are Oscar’s parents, so the other box must be mine." Dolores calls to Oscar in the next room. “Oscar darling, could you come in here for a minute?”

 A gruff voice booms from the other side of the doorway. “Not now! Matlock is on!” Dolores continues a little more sternly. “Oscar, you’ve already seen that one.” 

“No, I haven’t.” Oscar counters. 

Dolores challenges, “Oh yes you have!” 

“Uh-uh.” 

Setting her jaw, Dolores glances at Bill and smiles. “Well then, Oscar, let me refresh your memory. The banker’s daughter is framing him, so it looks like he has embezzled a huge amount of money from the bank because he won’t let her marry the boy she loves.” Bill hears his father swear and snap off the TV.

Oscar shuffles into the kitchen, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Pointing with his chin, Oscar asks, “What's all this crap?” Dolores explains,” Bill has offered to make a place in the old linen closet where we can put all our pictures." Turning to her son, " How will we do that, Bill?”

“Well, I was thinking perhaps we could go through the albums first and set them up chronologically. What do you think, Dad?” Oscar shrugs, “Sounds okay to me.” He turns and starts to leave the kitchen.

“Oscar!” Dolores snaps. “Where do you think you’re going?” Oscar shouts over his shoulder, “The next Matlock is coming on in three minutes.”

“Get back in here!” Dolores demands. “Bill is being very helpful to us. The least you can do is to cooperate. Now sit down!” Oscar pulls out a kitchen chair, ensuring it bangs and clatters loudly. Dolores glares at him.

Bill, whom is alway reminded of the comic strip "The Lockhorns" when ever he with his parents, smiles, and turns to his father. “Mom tells me that these albums belong to your family. Could you go through them and set them in the order of oldest to last?” Oscar studies the three thick albums for a minute or two. He lays them out one, two, three. I’d say the first one is the oldest because there are a lot of photos of Sicily, and by the time you get to album number three, they are mainly from the United States.” "Great!" Excitedly Bill writes that information down. “Now, what do you think the timeline might be?” Oscar rolls in his lips and sucks on his tongue. He studies the photos and gives a guess. “I’d say from the looks of the cars and such, probably the late eighteen hundreds to the nineteen fifties?” “Wonderful,” Bill exclaims. “Now, how about you, Mom? What’s your guess?” Dolores flips through the albums. “We came over later than Oscar’s family, so I’d say they left Ireland in the early nineteen hundreds to the fifties.” Bill rubs his hands together.“Excellent. That means this small album and all these loose pictures are our own, correct?

             Dolores is about to confirm that when she notices a picture half buried under a handful of others. “Look at this, Bill! It’s your father’s and my wedding picture!” She wiggles it loose from the stack and hands it to Bill. “Look how young we look.” Dolores adds with a devilish look, “Look how much hair your father used to have.!” Oscar winces and takes the picture. “Oh, yeah. And you were a size six.!” Dolores tries to kick Oscar under the table but misses. Oscar shakes his head and smiles at her mockingly. Oscar looks at the picture again. “No wonder we look so young. This is forty-five years ago.” Dolores huffs and crosses her arms. “Forty-seven, Oscar. It’s forty-seven years. Bill is forty-five.” Oscar shrugs and mutters, “Whatever.” Turning to Bill, he quips, “I’ve heard of men who robbed banks getting a lighter sentence than that.” This time Dolores finds her mark. While Oscar grumbles and rubs his shin, Bill studies the photo.

“Hey, Dad. What’s with the pencil mustache?” Dolores chimes in, “I know! Didn’t he look cute? I always thought he looked like Cesar Romero.” Bill studies the photo and agrees. He takes in his mother, who appears to be about two inches taller than Oscar. She looks very happy. “You know, Mom? Bill offers. “You looked a bit like Barbara Stanwyck yourself! Tell me, how did you two meet?” Oscar pipes up, “Your mother picked me up in a bar.” Dolores howls, “I did no such thing! Now tell the truth!”

Oscar chuckles. “We were at my friend Dan’s wedding.” Dolores corrects, “Jack, dear, his name was Jack.” Oscar scowls, “Are you sure? I could have sworn it was Dan. He married that Chinese girl. What’s her name.”

Dolores rolls her eyes and then speaks to Bill. “His name was Jack Anderson, and he was your father’s buddy in the Korean War. Ye-jin was the translator for the battalion to which they belonged.  After the war, Jack arranged to bring Ye-jin to the US, where were they married. Because we were friends and Ye-jin had no family here, they asked me to be her bridesmaid. The reception was at the local VFW. I felt hot and thirsty and entered the bar for a ginger ale. That’s when I met Father while he was having a beer.” 

Bill smiles. “What did you think when you saw her Dad?” Oscar leans back, “Oh, I thought she was pretty enough. She strolled in and stood at the end of the bar a little way away from me. She had her hair up in a bun.” Dolores smirks, “It was a French twist.” Raising one eyebrow, Oscar repeats, “A French twist? I thought that was a pastry!”  Dolores reiterates, “That’s a French horn! Bill, I’m talking about hairstyles, and your father is talking about food.” She shakes her head.

“Well, at any rate!” Oscar continues. “Her hair was up, and she was wearing a purple gown.” 

“Pink.” Oscar’s shoulders slump. “Well, Oscar, I don’t mean to contradict you, but you’re getting it all wrong! It was a pale pink dress with a white orchid pinned to the strap.” Oscar shakes his head. “Whatever it was, I thought you looked beautiful.” Dolores’s cheeks flush. Oscar continues. “After we talked for a little while, I heard my favorite song being played by the band and asked your mother if she would care to dance.” Eyebrows raised, Bill exclaims “You had a favorite song? What was it?” Dolores gasps as Oscar answers without hesitation. “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole. Your mother said yes, so I took her hand and walked her out to the middle of the dance floor.  At first, we held each other properly, one hand on her hip and the other holding her hand.  I found your mother to be a great dancing partner. She followed my every move! As the music played on, we got a little closer and closer still until her head was restin my shoulder.” 

Dolores grins as she whispers, “I had to lean down to do it.”   Oscar responds, “But you did it.   And the last 45 years have been history.” After a long pause, Dolores smiles, takes Oscar’s hand, and softly says, “47.”