A Tribute to Sven

Today, January 12, is the fifteenth anniversary of my first date with Sven. I reminded him this morning, a wistful smile on my face, remembering us falling in love. He turned to me, shaving cream dripping from his cheeks, and said, romantically,

"Was I supposed to remember that?" Then Sven Jr. pulled my hair.

Okay, so it wasn't the world's most romantic moment, but I feel today I should honor the man who made me a wife and mother in not-so-rapid succession.

Picture it: January 1994. Bill Clinton is still new in office, no one has yet heard of Monica Lewinsky. The clear beverage craze is over. Pearl Jam is the hottest band around. Deb is hanging out with Sven and his best friend Hezekiah, wearing her best flannel and her saggiest jeans.

"So," says Hezekiah smoothly. "A bunch of us are going to a club tonight. Do you want to come?"

"Sure," Deb replies, "but I don't have a car right now."

"Sven will pick you up," replies Hezekiah. Deb does not catch his wink.

At 7:00 that night, Sven comes to Deb's house. They drive to Houston, talking all the while, having a great time. They get to the club, and- no Hezekiah, no "bunch of us..." What gives?

Only slightly abashed, Sven says, "Oh, everybody else cancelled."

Right. The sly fox tricked me into going out with him. I was feeling flattered, until I heard, "Why don't your pants fit?"

So much for flattery. We spent a great evening together getting to know one another, and then he took me home.

Where he did not kiss me. He didn't even try. I knew I had found someone special.

He still is.