Today marks my grandparent’s 73rd wedding anniversary. They are both 93 and g-d willing are on track for hitting 100. In the interim we have, rather I have big plans for them.
I am trying to convince my grandfather to start training for the 100 yard dash. The idea is that in two years we’ll do a world tour in which we will promote him as the fastest 95 year-old man in the world.
It will also coincide with their 75th wedding anniversary so we’ll plan a big bash to celebrate that as well. My grandfather agreed to this provided that he can still walk. As an extra incentive I told him that I would personally see that anyone who was at their wedding attends the party for their 75th anniversary party.
This made my grandfather laugh hard enough that his dentures flew out, which in turn made him laugh even harder. Once he stopped laughing he told me that everyone is dead which either makes me a cheap bastard or a very good businessman.
Then he got very serious and told me how happy he was to have seen me become a father and that he hoped that one day I could become a great-grandfather, even though I could never be as great as he is. At this point I reminded him that when I was five he promised me a pony and that 33 years later I was still waiting.
At this point my son walked in and spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out what happened to my horse and why his great grandfather told him that Elmer had taken care of the pony.
All in all it was a fine day and I was pleased to celebrate with them, especially my grandmother who in many ways was the backbone that kept things going.
And in case you wonder what the secret to surviving 73 years of marriage is my grandmother has an answer. If you want to be married that long you have to take it one day at a time, or you can listen to my grandfather who says that it helps if one of the spouses is deaf.
All I know is that I cannot conceive of them as anything but a team. Seventy-three years, wow.