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When It Comes to Marriage, I Haven’t Had My “Filet Mignon”
And I Deserve More Than Hamburger
My grandmother was widowed in her late forties, while her youngest child of three was still in high school. Her husand, my grandfather, had been a prominent attorney in their small town, and a respected member of the local school board.
They had met when she was barely out of college, a fresh-faced school teacher driving a brand-new Ford Model A. She was ready to teach at the local grammar school, a job she had been looking forward to greatly. He was a newly-minted attorney, a former football player at Yale, who was primed to set up local practice.
The two cut a dashing profile, both good-looking and blonde, from solid local families just a few towns away from each other. They were both schooled in the best courting practices. Theirs was a storybook romance in many ways, dotted with humor and affection. I’ve got her diaries that outline the tale day by day. I’ve also got plenty of my own coversations with her; the charm was in the retelling.
“I’ve already had filet mignon. Why would I want hamburger?”
My grandfather didn’t live to meet any of his grandchildren, but we got to know him through her stories. She didn’t hold back about some of his flaws — he liked to bet on…
