Love at first sight

While watching TV the other night, the character said to his wife “as soon as I saw you, I knew I was going to marry you”. “That’s what happened to me, mate.” Dad said.

My parents’ meeting is a bit of a fairy tale romance, one I’ve always enjoyed hearing. I love the casual intimacy between them: the cuddles in the kitchen while doing dishes or welcoming kisses when one gets home. Our home has always been one that is full of love; we were always hugged, kissed, and told “I love you”.

It was October 1978 when they met. Mum was 21; Dad was 23—my age. Mum was staying with a friend of hers from uni over a weekend to do a group assignment . This friend lived across the road from Dad; her twin brother was Dad’s best friend and they had known him since early childhood, having gone to the same primary school and her brother having gone to the same high school. After a long day of study, Mum’s friend suggested they go out on Saturday night with some friends of hers, and that she would invite her friend from across the road—“you’ll like him”—I don’t think it was a set-up per se but that’s how it panned out. Dad said to the twins’ mother “I’m going to marry that girl”.

The next day, Sunday, Dad dropped in to the friend’s house to say hello. He asked Mum how she was getting home (on the other side of Sydney) and she said she was just planning on catching the train. He offered to drive her and they hit it off. Shortly after he asked Mum out for a date at a fancy restaurant and so began the love affair of a lifetime.

After some time, a month or two maybe, he was invited by Mum’s parents to dinner at their place. Dad was petrified. Being their grandson, this is a hard scenario to picture but I can see that my grandparents are incredibly intimidating to strangers, especially new or potential lovers of their children or grandchildren. Dad shuffled in, all “Hello sir, hello ma’am”, and ate dinner with them. It was a culture shock; he was brought up in the inner western suburbs by the “typical Australian” parents, her parents immigrants with their strange food, language and customs. After dinner he offered to make tea, in an attempt to impress them, and was given orders to make special herbal after-dinner tea for everyone. He emerged from the kitchen, five minutes later, with four cups full of milky mustard-coloured water—he didn’t know that herbal teas don’t need milk. They laughed and I think he finally let his guard down a little. In no time, he was part of the family.

A year later, Dad approached my grandfather and asked his permission to propose to my mother. On the day that was a year after their first date, Dad took Mum to the same restaurant and proposed. She said yes and, two months later, they married in a small church on December 29, 1979.

Of the four siblings’ first marriages (in my mother’s family), theirs is the only one to have survived.