New Year's Eve 1974.
A church singles dance.
Daddy is a brand, spanking new Mormon (born and raised Southern Baptist).
He sees my mother from across the room.
He hadn't realized they made Mormons with figures like that!
Dangerous curves ahead.
He asks the curves to dance. Her jet black hair falls too her tiny waist. A thick exotic accent escapes her full and smiling mouth.
Can I have this dance for the rest of my life? Will you be my partner every night? When we're together it feels so right...
My father feels an electric shock course through his body as he holds her far too tightly for a brand new Mormon at a singles New Year's Eve dance.
You should be able to fit a Bible between you, they say.
But my daddy is a Southern boy. He knows how to handle a woman.
No imaginary Bible will keep him from sweeping off her tiny Mexican feet. The space where a Bible should be is wasted space indeed.
He takes her breath away.
They are married 6 weeks later.
Coral and I sing this song with him often. We serenade my mother. We are told to plan to sing it at their funerals. (Morbid, but that's how we do around here...)
PS I will very soon regale you with tales of Girls Camp and the like... It's been a wonderful week!