We met in the late spring, 1956, the year I
graduated from State. It seems so long ago now—it’s hard to imagine
we were ever anything but the old men we’ve become. My youngest
sister Betty had a boy she wanted me to meet, someone I thought she
was courting at the time, and she arranged an afternoon date. I
thought she wanted my approval before she married the guy; that’s
the way things were done back in the day.
But when I drove up to Jim’s parent’s house
and saw those long legs unfold as he pushed himself up off the
front steps of the porch, I thought I’d spend the rest of my life
aching for him. I could just imagine the jealousy that would eat me
alive, knowing my sister slept in those gangly arms every night;
family gatherings would become unbearable as I watched the two of
