It isn’t impossible, but these days it’s improbable.
My wife and I have been married 16 years as of August 15. Looking back I wonder, in somewhat chronological order:
- Would we have met had I not switched at the last minute from the University of Arkansas to the lesser-known University of Central Arkansas?
- What if I hadn’t gone to Shoney’s with friends on the night we met?
- What would have happened to “us” had I gone ahead to graduate school at the University of Missouri?
- If Shannon stopped tweezing, would the unibrow grow back as full and dark as the day we got married?
- Would a modern condom hold fast to the antenna from Little Rock to some spot east of Memphis, like one did on the drive out to our Smoky Mountain honeymoon?
- Will those who saw and revered it ever forget the beer-dispensing soda machine at the site of our wedding reception?
- Did that period of working a day job and then cleaning offices at night to squeak out a trailer payment and lot rental build character, or just suck?
- Did calling it a “mobile home” really fool anybody?
- Could anyone else have put up with me for nine years and then, after all that, imagined it was a good idea to have a child with me? (we tried for two years – *wink*)
- Could anyone else have brought Benjamin into my life?
- Could I imagine patting anyone else on the back just now as I took a break from typing this?
The answers, in no particular order and repeating in some cases, are, “Who knows?”; “Who cares?”; “Not a chance”; and “Not even a little bit.”