I asked my mother what she wanted for her 50th anniversary on Saturday, and she said, “A divorce!” I was shocked only for a moment before I heard her familiar cackle.
““No, really, Mom. What do you and dad want to do?” I asked. My older sister, Vicki, and I had discussed ideas, possibly sending our parents on a cruise, but our mother is notorious about timing and destinations.
““Well, I don’t know when we’d go,” she said. “I’m not sure when my next belly dancing recital is, and I think your father has another colonoscopy coming up.”
““What about a cruise to Cancun?”
““Isn’t that where those college kids got decapitated by those devil worshipers?””
““Um, I don’t recall that.”
““Yeah, I think they scooped their brains out and ate Campbell’s Tomato Soup out of their skulls.”
““What about the Bahamas?”
““What if we disappear into the Bermuda Triangle? Your father and I would have to have a yard sale first. I wouldn’t want to burden you with all this junk if we’re abducted by aliens from Atlantis.”
I asked Mom if, perhaps, she and Dad wanted a party.
““Who would we invite? Most of our family and friends are dead.”
““What about Dad’s friends from the gun club and your friends from Zumba?”
““Well, we’re friendly with them when we see them, but they’re not the kind of friends you invite to a golden anniversary party. You need to know them a while before you invite people to that kind of thing.”
““You still have a week,” I said.
““Look, I didn’t even tell the church our 50th anniversary was coming up. They make you stand up in front of the congregation and one of the elders present you with an engraved platter.”
““You don’t want an engraved platter to celebrate your half-century of love with Dad?”
““Not if I have to dust it, let alone find a place for it. Where am I going to put it? Your father has ammo and his flashlight collection in every room in this house!”
““What if I just send you card?” I asked.
““That would be lovely.”
““Have you asked Dad what he wants to do?”
““I did. He doesn’t really want to make a fuss, except go to Rosa’s Cantina for dinner,” Mom said. “It’s Taco Night and seniors receive free drinks. Nothing makes your father happier than Diet Dr. Pepper in a to-go cup.”
““Wow, y’all are grabbing the bull by the horns, aren’t you?”
In the background, I heard my father snoring, and I could picture him, head thrown back against the sofa, mouth open, glasses askew on the bridge of his nose.
“Yessiree, every day with your father is an adventure,” Mom said. “What more could a girl ask for?”
Kids avoid standing out from the rest of the crowd, and I was no exception. We moved from Waco to Burleson right after I turned thirteen. Since I had attended Midway Elementary School since kindergarten, I was not trained in the art of making new friends. To say I was socially awkward is putting mildly; I was more like a creature from another planet.