When I was a teenager I remember Daddy telling me that no boy was EVER going to honk for me for a date.  Instead they must come in, look him in the eyes, and shake his hand.  The man was a teddy bear but I remember all the boys confessing they were terrified of him.  He was large and dark skinned, with piercing blue eyes … a testament to both his half-Choctaw/half-German heritage.  We may have lived in an inexpensive apartment but he somehow always commanded their respect.  He was referred to as “Mr. Ringler” although he offered them the use of his first name.  My father fought eight years in the “Forgotten War” (Korea) and, despite his gentle demeanor, he was incredibly skilled in the armed forces and in martial arts.  He never bragged or mentioned it unless some type of trauma for him came up.  For instance, he always sat with his back in the corner of a restaurant.  I asked him why and I remember him rubbing the back of his neck subconsciously and saying he just needed to be able to see the room.  He loved all meat and especially anything barbecued.  However he couldn’t stand barbecued chicken.  When I asked why once he said that it was almost all he ate in the MREs (meals ready-to-eat) during the war.  My mother was so innocent she had no idea why he was so easily able to win her stuffed animals at the Texas State Fair by bursting balloons with darts.  I think we all know carnival games are rigged.  But I’m guessing a man who worked his way up from a private in the army to a sharpshooter could figure it out.  One of the sweetest things my husband ever said to me was that he missed my father … and he never even knew him.  It was while we were still dating and I never forgot it.  Burk will often ask me something about “Mr. Ringler” and I am always happy and proud to tell him.  Daddy was a romantic, the kind one dreams about (if they are so inclined).  He wrote mother many love letters, bought her chocolates, and brought her an orchid on LITERALLY EVERY DATE.  Apparently at one point Grandmother Maris asked him to please stop because their refrigerator was full.  I took a quiz once and scored a 100 on being “an incurable romantic.”  My husband shows his love in different ways.  I long for love notes, but he leaves articles by my nightstand which he believes I’ll like.  As it is with daddies and daughters — my husband is completely smitten.  Interestingly enough, without me saying a word I know she has inherited my romantic streak.  It is something that can horribly disappoint or be incredibly elating.  Recently she pronounced the hubs and I needed to go out.  When I was seven I remember being awfully concerned about the romantic well-being of my parents.  I think it has to do with the stability of family.  So we decided to do something which we had never done before — we had drinks, dinner, and watched a live stand-up comedy show.  My husband and I do not share the same sense of humor and I worried he was not having a good time.  It turns out he really enjoyed himself and wants to do more.  I was a precocious reader and I started in on adult romance novels in the fourth grade.  Oh Mama made sure they were Harlequin romances (very “clean”) but I discovered I had a passion for reading them.  I CRINGE at the whole “Princess” thing, but I must confess it was always vindicating to see a good girl who just happened to be down-trodden accidentally stumble into an extraordinary life with the only man she truly loved, and she the only woman he truly loved.  It may have taken awhile, but I am a living fairy tale.  I had no family except my elderly mother and some distant cousins; yet I got to have the big church wedding I never truly thought I’d have.  I am not speaking of a huge bridal party or presents; rather a full church whose pews were lined with candles, accompanied by an excellent choir singing every song chosen by me.  There was a Latin song I’d often sung, a lesser known rendition of “Ave Maria” by Edward Elgar, and “Laudate Dominium” by Mozart.  In the fifth grade I wrote and published my first book on Christian symbols, and in the sixth I wrote and published a book on Mozart.  I chose every scripture reading, the crucifer, the thurifer, and the acolytes.  I don’t even LIKE dresses and I wore a beautiful gown complete with a cathedral length veil.  My precious third cousins (sister and brother), at the tender ages of I believe six and three bravely made their way down the long, daunting sanctuary’s aisle together carrying the flowers and our rings.  It was my greatest sorrow that my father was not there.  My husband and I have been married for twelve years now.  I do not expect him to plan my favorite thing in the world, a scavenger hunt difficult to solve and ultimately leading me to him.  However, I can expect that daily he will walk though our front door, tell me he loves me, and look for our daughter to go hug her.  The American country singer Brad Paisley once said, “Date night is important, even if it’s going to Schlotzsky’s.”  I confess I do not care for that restaurant but the sentiment remains:  I have had dates with my husband where one of us has been very sick and we have each cared for the other.  We have had deaths in our families, a change of jobs, and were blessed with our child.  We have had terrible fights, experienced tremendous sadness, and have become even more busy.  But thanks to our little one, we are once again striving to keep our date night.