I was walking into a movie with a couple of friends when she walked out.
She was with her two sisters, and I was surprised to see her there. We were in German class together at San Jose City College. I had known her name since the beginning of the semester that September. She was quiet. I was… not. Let’s just say I had plenty of confidence and wasn’t shy about it. In my mind, she was way out of my league.
But when I saw her that night, one very loud thought ran through my head:
She doesn’t have a boyfriend.
The next day I asked her out, a trip to Santa Cruz the following weekend.
She said, “No.”
The next week, I asked again.
“No.”
Now, I’ve always believed in persistence. (Some might call it stubbornness.) I learned she worked evenings at Kaiser Hospital and got off at 11 p.m. One night, by pure coincidence and perhaps a little determination I happened to be nearby when she was leaving work. We ended up talking, and I drove her home to make sure she got there safely.
On the way, I asked again.
“No.”
I pulled the car over and told her I wasn’t giving up that easily.
Finally, she looked at me and said, “Fine. Yes!”
The next Saturday, March 5, 1967, I picked her up at her home and we drove to Santa Cruz. We spent the day walking the beach. At one point we were standing there looking out over the ocean, and I said, “We could go three miles out there and get married.”
She looked at me and said, “You’re nuts. We are not going to get married.”
This coming March 5th marks 59 years since that first date.
We’ve now been married 58 years this May 25th.
Sometimes, we just know.
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