How I met my wife

One of my friends when I was a Defense Language Institute in Monterey California was a fellow soldier named Jay Cook.  Jay Cook always reminded me of Clark Kent. He had broad shoulders and brown hair. Jay was a big strong guy and was the type of guy that I thought should have no problem with the ladies.  But for the glasses and perhaps the self-confidence Jay was Superman.

One Saturday afternoon in Monterey, Jay and I were walking down Alvarado Street and Jay was asking me, "How do you do it? How do you meet all these girls?"

I've always had a great affection for Jay, mainly because Jay always seemed to assume that I was Superman, even though I thought he was the real Superman.  Jay has a way of complimenting a guy's ego that is so sincere, one can't help but drink it in. I mean seriously---coming to me for advice about women is like coming to Willie Nelson for tax advice or fashion advice from Dennis Rodman.  Willie Nelson can tell you how to avoid paying taxes, but not how to do it without going to jail. Dennis Rodman can tell you how to dress, but can't really tell you how to look good.

At any rate, far be it from me to tell Jay that I'm not expert on women. Instead, I just replied with confidence, "You just have to talk to the women, Jay. " As we entered into Baskin-Robbins to get an ice cream cone, I told Jay, "Just be yourself. Watch this ..."

Normally I wouldn't have had the confidence to talk to a stranger, but Jay had pumped me up and I wasn't going to disappoint. There was a gorgeous oriental girl (back then nobody said "Asian" but that's another story) behind the counter.  I started joking around with her about flavors as we picked our selections.  When she looked away, I winked at Jay and said, "Watch and learn, young Jedi."

I asked the girl who would one day be my bride, "Will you go out with me?"

Julie replied, "Maybe."

We exchanged phone numbers ... which is to say. I took her phone number. I lived in a barracks and didn't have a phone in my room. Mobile phones were only for the rich so I didn't have a number to give her.  I came to memorize that number more than 25 years later I still remember those 10 digits. As I left Baskin-Robbins, I told Jay, "That's how you do it."

It was probably the first time I'd ever done such a thing. And it was probably the last time. I definitely owe Jay Cook a debt of gratitude, because my wife and kids are the best things in my life.