After your mother visited me during our freshman year in college, our interactions petered out over the next eight years. If my memory serves, this silent period began because your mother started dating someone else shortly after our “You’re so magical” night. I felt betrayed. To this day, your mother still says she thought I wasn’t interested because I didn’t make a move or say anything after that night. Maybe, but I was a shy, nerdy 19-year-old…what do you expect?
About six months later, I got myself a girlfriend and we were now both involved with others. Still, we maintained our friendship and continued to keep in touch through written letters although the frequency of our letters stretched from one every few months to one a year. While things were amiable through those years, I look back on that period of my life as a bit of a one-sided relationship cold war with your mother. If your mother had a boyfriend, I felt like I needed to get a girlfriend to avoid seeming like I was just floundering. Or if we both were in relationships, I’d compare our relationships by the length of the relationship. Your old man can be petty and unfair, but I like to think it was just immaturity.
It wasn’t until I started working and going on business trips that I would have the opportunity to see your mother again. There were two trips where we met up – Palo Alto and Chicago. As I only had one night in Palo Alto and another good friend in the area, I arranged to meet your Uncle Eric and your mother together at the Cheesecake Factory. We talked, we ate, and your mother drove me back to my hotel. However, this trip is only funny in retrospect when your mother admitted many years later she broke up with her boyfriend in anticipation of hooking up with me during my trip only to find that I had inadvertently brought a cockblock (the man below).
I visited Chicago a year later and that hangout ended in a fight when I kept insisting to your mother that she shouldn’t go on a trip to Greece with this “platonic” male friend she had just met. “Yeah right,” I said, “going on this trip is only going to lead him on.” Of course, your mother doesn’t like being told what she can or can’t do. Funnily enough, this was the first time I had seen your mother get mad at me in the eleven years we had known each other.
Two years later, while I was visiting my parents in San Diego, I took a trip up to L.A. on Christmas Eve, met your mother in Union Station, and the rest, as they say, is history.