Posted by on Dec 24, 2011 in Photographs, Sacred Experiences | 0 comments

I don’t know who was more nervous, me or my date.  I’m sixty-six years old and I haven’t been on a date in so long that I forgot the usual protocol.  My hand trembled just a bit as I got out of the car, fidgeting with the single red rose I’d brought for her.  The dress shirt chafed slightly at the neck.  It reminded me a lot of when I was younger.


When I arrived at her house, her mom (yes, her mom) greeted me at the door. “She’s not quite ready yet.  Come in and sit on the couch.”


I heard my date wail from the other room. “But, Mom . . . I don’t want to go.”


“Then, you come tell him that yourself.”


She stepped into the room, a little hesitant and shy.  What a vision of loveliness she was. Her black top hung just slightly off her shoulders.  It was graced with a black flowered skirt that flowed when she moved.  The tiny maroon-colored flower in her hair made her look simply radiant.


As she moved slowly towards me, I held out the red rose I’d brought her. Her eyes widened; her lips curved into a smile as her face glowed with pleasure.  “Okay, I changed my mind,” she giggled.  “I’ll go with you.”


Would you believe I actually asked what her curfew was?  I arched an eyebrow at her mom’s reply to have her back no later than 8:00.  “And don’t let her drink too much lemonade,” she said.  “Chelsea has school tomorrow.”


“Let’s go, sweetheart.”  I smiled at my date as I reached out for her.  She looked up at me, with dimples and a smile that is destined to break hearts someday.  Then she took my hand and my five-year-old, adopted granddaughter and I traipsed off together to go to her first dance.


~J.K. Ingersoll~



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