How I Met Yo Mama.

My original plan was to move to Hawaii. That was the plan. My whole life I loved other cultures. I had just lived in Japan for nearly two years – and most of it on a Hawaii-clone island of Okinawa. I knew that the school I wanted to go to would have a lot of Japanese people, as well as people from all over the world. So that was the plan.

I operated a French Fry Truck after coming back from Japan and even had a little tip jar with a note on it: “Tips for college in Hawaii.” (To this day, nobody makes burgers and fries quite like your Grama Paige and I).

Hawking fries with your Grama Paige and Aunty Emma.

Gotta rake in those tips.

I think at this point, we can chalk up your existence and the best thing that has ever happened to me to a royal administrative screw-up at an office in Hawaii. You see, the summer of 2010 was not a good time in that admissions office. They had admitted more students than they had housing for. A lot more. And I was one of the suckers that couldn’t find a place to live. My dad got to the point where he told me: “Son, it’s their fault. I think you should just show up at the admissions door with a sleeping bag and sleep there until they fix this for you.”

As I’ve indicated before, I’m a lover not a fighter and so to avoid this contention I called up Weber State University, in Ogden, Utah.

Before going to Japan, your Uncle Johnny and I went down to Weber State together for a semester. It was a great time and we participated in some excellent shenanigans. Luckily, I still had a good relationship with the admissions people there and despite some grumbling about “sloppy seconds” they heard my cries and arranged my re-enrollment and an apartment. The catch: I had to be there the next day.

Aforementioned silliness with your Uncle Johnny at Weber State.

So, that night, your Grampa Mike and I packed the car and we drove all night down to Ogden for me to arrive and move into move in to my apartment. Luckily, I had a couple of friends down there from Cardston so I wasn’t totally on my own. My new digs weren’t too shabby, although I can’t say with any degree of confidence that they would have been better than a sleeping bag in Hawaii. The dorm was called Wasatch Hall. It was all male and it smelled like it so it was nick-named, “Ballsatch” (if you’re reading this, you’re old enough to get that joke. I know, I’m a terrible dad).

When it comes to the ladies, you might think that the first day of class is “showtime.” But you would be wrong. That may be the case at other schools, but at Weber State University – well, actually any university in Utah – the real showtime happens on the first day of church.

You see, there is this magical thing called a “Singles Ward” which is church specifically catering to young ladies and young men and is designed to get them paired-off and married. They have special lessons on dating and they have lots of dances and “get to know you” activities and stuff.

You’ll be happy to know that I needed absolutely none of that.

It was the very first day of church. I was late. I sat by myself in a pew off to the right. Right after the first meeting, there was a second meeting especially for all the new people who had just moved in. So my friend, Braden, and I found our way to the room. We were kind of early and a lot of people were still coming in.

I leaned forward to Braden. “Hey man. What if our future wives are in this room right now?”

“Oh man. Oh yeah that is crazy!”

I sat back, surveying my surroundings.

Then it happened. Through the door, in walked your mother. She wore a purple dress and bouncy curly hair. Instantly, my whole world slowed down as she navigated through the desks to her seat. It was slow motion. And in my head, all I that was happening was:

Well she’s all you’d ever want,
She’s the kind I’d like to flaunt
And take to diiiiiiiiiiner.

But she always knows her place,
She’s got style, she’s got grace
She’s a wiiiiiiiiiner.

She’s a laaaaaady. Woah woah woah….

I’m not kidding. That is exactly what happened.

After the little welcome meeting, the church does this OTHER thing to help the young people fall in love called a “Linger-Longer.” We went out into this foyer area and had snickerdoodle cookies. Braden and I sat at the table where your mom was. I tried to talk to her, but she didn’t seem that into it so instead I talked to her friends. You know them today as your Aunty Eryn and Aunty Candace.

After leaving church somewhat disappointed at not getting your mom’s digits (us old folks had these things called “phones” and they had 9-digit numbers to talk to people with. It was a sign of awesomeness for a person to get the “number” of the person they think is cute), I hung out with Braden and my cousin Whitney and her now-husband, Cas.

It turns out that Whitney lived on the same floor in the dorms as your mom. This proved to be a valuable resource for your existence. While we were hanging out, I said something about how I thought Allison was pretty cute but she didn’t seem too interested in talking. Whitney informed me that there was an obstacle to our destiny together. A football player. A bad boy college football player living in the same building. Ah. Disappointing.

Well, it turns out that unbeknownst to me, Whitney was secretly texting Allison about our conversation.

“Well, James, she does think you’re cute.”

“That’s not very useful. She’s dating a football player.”

“No. James. Allison thinks you’re cute.”

My mind flashed back to the very last day of the 7th grade. Walking home from school, I had an exchange of impolite words with a classmate, and spent the first part of summer vacation with two black eyes. If you were ever wondering if there was any event that solidified my “lover-not-a-fighter” disposition, wish granted.

“Yeah, well, that’s too bad because she’s already dating a guy named [insert Biblical villain name here]. Dude plays college football and his name is [bad guy name]? Nah, I choose life.”

Cas chimed in. He grabbed Whitney’s phone and showed it to me.

“Allison says you are cute, and that the football boy doesn’t matter.”

There it was. Straight up in plain English on that little flip-phone screen.

That night, we cooked up a plan. After class the next day, I would go to the dorms to “visit my dear cousin Whitney” and Whit would re-introduce me to your mom in a more casual and less meat-market kind of setting.

The Next Day…

I met up with Whit in the Student Union building, and together we walked over to their dorm building.

Whit took me straight to your mom’s dorm room, which she shared with your Aunty Eryn. She knocked on the door, and Eryn opened it.

“Oh, hi guys! Come on in!”

She opened the door and let us into the room. And there she was. The slow motion happened again.

Sweatpants have never looked so sexy (and this was before “leggings” WHICH ARE NOT PANTS and are, more often than not, really stupid looking).

I’m not sure how I said it. Maybe I was confident. Maybe my voice cracked. Maybe I was shy. Maybe I was blushing. Maybe I drooled. I don’t know. But I managed to say, “hi.”

The looked at me with those heart-melting eyes.

“Wanna pickle?”

That was it. More beautiful or spell-binding words have never been spoken.

In her beautiful hands was a napkin-wrapped pickle with a bite taken out of it, and she stretched her arm out to me inviting me to take a bite. I figured that kissing a pickle that had graced those beautiful lips would be moving a bit too fast.

“I would love a pickle!”

And she grabbed a pickle out of the jar for me and we got to know each other a little bit more over our first meal of pickles together.

From the day we met, your mom and I never spent a day apart as long as we were in the same city. Through a series of serendipitous circumstances, we ended up living in apartments right in the same building.

We were married almost exactly a year after we first met. And the rest has been happily ever after.

Me, your Mom, Aunty Candace, and Aunty Eryn

PS – If you even think about getting married to somebody after dating less than a year or before you turn 25, you are in huge trouble. Love you.