Looking through some old photos, I came across this one. It reminded me of the extraordinary times that brought Jennifer and I together. We were both 19, each of us feeling the need for change, a breaking free, and finding a life direction. On the eve of our 37th anniversary, I recall that summer.
It was the summer of '69. I just completed ROTC training at Ft. Benning, Georgia; Jennifer was in Harrison, Maine, working as a girl's camp counselor. Upon completion of basic training, I was released from my ROTC obligation, and I returned home to Buffalo. Nothing to do, no job, nowhere to go, I got a little wild, and a whole lot goofy. I kept in touch with Jennifer, and I told her I couldn't stay there anymore, and she said she didn't want to go home either. Why don't I pick her up and maybe together we could figure something out. I had a couple of weeks to decide, she wasn't done until August 15, 1969.
In those few weeks, I was lost, I didn't know what I wanted or what to do. For some reason, I went into a Zales Jeweler's, and bought a quarter carat diamond ring, for the princely sum of $100, most of which I had to borrow. After burning the last of the bridges to my past, I left on Friday, August 15, 1969 for Harrison, Maine.
I arrived at the camp at a couple of minutes to five; everyone was gone. I looked through the trees, out over the small lake, and on the other side, I could see Jennifer, sitting on the dock, knees drawn to her chest, the sunlight illuminating her long blonde hair. I drove over to her, greeted her, and loaded her stuff into the car. As she got into the car, she asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?" "I'm sure," I replied.
We drove for a couple hours, and finally stopped for the night. At a little greasy spoon somewhere in New England, over dinner, she asked again, "Are you really sure? If you're not, you can just drop me off at a bus station, no hard feelings." I reached into my pocket and passed the small package over to her. She opened it, her eyes grew wide, and she said, "You know, this means forever." "Yeah, I know."
The next morning, heading south, I said to her, "There's a music, concert thing not far from here, do you want to stop?" She said sure, and we made our way to Woodstock, not knowing what to expect. It was the first of many cultural icons that we simply fell into.
Through the years, I have offered many times to upgrade that quarter carat ring; and her answer is always the same. "No; forever is forever."