Your Wedding

You would meet at a dance. He was from the north. A Yankee stationed near your hometown. He thought you were pretty. He made you laugh. You might go out for drinks. If you lived in a big city--or if you were from a small town and came from a bad home--you might spend the night together. Dancing or walking and sitting on a park bench together, you would fall in love. You would write love letters to one another. You would gaze into each others eyes.

When the timing was right, after a few months or a year, he might write you a letter. Or he might propose while visiting you after the war. Would you be his bride? He’d present you with an engraved wristwatch. Or a ring. Or he’d offer a promise for a better future. Accepting that wristwatch, you would say yes. In your return letter, you would make arrangements. You would write a letter to your mother to tell her that you were engaged.

A month or two would pass. You were anxiously awaiting the ceremony. You might get married in your family church. Or you would have a small ceremony in a courtroom or in the country by a babbling brook. You’d wear a new suit with fresh stockings. Or an invory dress with a white hat. Afterward, your sister would have arranged a luncheon for you. Or you’d adjourn to the Fellowship Hall to have punch and cake. The cake would be wonderful. Smooth, white icing with ribbons and roses made of frosting. You would be too excited to finish your lunch. You’d spend most of it referring to your husband and laughing and hugging your friends and relatives. You were married.