If you spend 10 minutes with my father, you hear the story of how he met my mom. It’s his favorite story in the world and I’ve heard it a million times. But it’s still a good story. In his words, verbatim and for the record:
“I went to Duke University and I was poor. I didn’t have a nickel. One day when I was a junior, a fraternity brother on my hall asked me if I had a date that night. I said, ‘Sure do,” and he asked me if I’d like to make it a double date. He had a car. Oh boy, that was something! So I said, “Sure.”
“The women’s campus at Duke was 3 miles away from the men’s campus. We drove over and picked up my date first, then we went to pick up his date. When she came down the stairs, I took one look at her and said to myself, “Oh, my GOD, that’s the one I want!”
“The next morning I called her at 8:00, the earliest time you could call the women’s dorm, and I asked her out for a date that night. She said yes. And that was it. Neither one of us ever dated anyone else for the rest of our lives. She was 17 years old. My Peggy.”
Now wasn’t that a good story?