On the evening of July 3, 1979, Karen and I sat on the grass at Stewart Park in Ithaca, New York. I had just handed her my softball mitt. When she opened it and spotted the microscopic $395 “diamond” ring, I said, “You’re a great catch!”
It was her turn:
“I’m not marrying you.”
Hmm, this was not going according to plan. Denied thrice by my 18-year-old quasi-girlfriend.
I say “quasi” because just weeks before, I’d broken up with her, which hurt her and her mom. I later learned that my kids’ future grandma uttered these words:Continue Reading