I got to thinking about my parents last night - not that I don't think about them every day. But last night my thoughts went deep . . . and way back.
They married in 1926 on March 14 - my Daddy's 21st birthday.
He had not been allowed to marry before that day. Yes, you heard right . . . his father wouldn't allow him to marry until he was 21. My grandfather was a very small man. I imagine he didn't weigh more than 140 pounds soaking wet. My daddy, on the other hand, was large and muscular. Not large in height . . . but he had biceps like a prize fighter from years of working in the coal mines. He'd had to quit school in the fifth grade to go to work and help support the family.
But oh, did Daddy love his night life. While living under his parents roof, he found it next to impossible to make it home by curfew. Even though he knew his father would be waiting with the paddle. Yep . . . the paddle. This tough, muscle-bound young man would obediently allow his pint-sized father to whip him with a paddle when he got home late.
That's the kind of respect our ancestors showed for their parents. Whether raised in a Christian home or not . . . "Honor thy father and thy mother" was deeply ingrained in their spirit.
He told me - years later when I was an adult - "Oh how I hated those whippings. I made up my mind the day I turned 21 your mother and I would marry and get our own place." I asked him if it had ever occurred to him to come in by curfew . . . and he just grinned.
Tune in Wednesday for the next episode.