Fifty Years Ago

Gregg and Kris Lyons were married the day before Valentine’s Day in 1971. This was not due to any romantic notions. It was because, just like this year, February 13th fell on a Saturday, and they didn’t want to have to go to work the day after their wedding.

They didn’t have throngs of people witness their nuptials. My dad counted twelve people when I asked him who was there. It was a big deal for my mom that her mother and grandmother flew down for it. The wedding was simple, my dad’s mom made the cake and finger sandwiches, and it was because they wanted to be together. I learned not too long ago that my dad had met my mom in the airport with a bunch of his friends in California and told her that they were going to get married in Vegas. “I’m not marrying you right now, you haven’t met my mother,” my mom replied. They guys were bummed that their big party plans were spoiled, but not to long after that, my dad made the drive from Louisiana to Idaho a few weeks later to meet her family and they all loved him.

Fifty years is a long time! I was at least ten years older when I got married than both of my parents were when they tied the knot. I’m incredibly thankful that I waited. (Dean was not older than both of them when he got married, incidentally.) I vaguely remember years ago discussing something about dating with my dad, I have no idea what we were talking about, I just remember the realization hitting me that I had more years of dating experience than he did. And although I am most gratified that I didn’t marry anyone that I dated before meeting Dean, I am envious that they managed to find their person so early in life. I also know that it wasn’t always easy.

Here’s the bar that my parents owned before I was even thought of.

Because they married younger, they lived a nice chunk of life together before my sister and I came along. My dad worked on the rockets that went to the moon. They both owned a bar together for a while called the Second Story. There were other jobs besides these, but those are the ones that I remember the most stories about. Eventually they built their own construction business and they did that until my sister and I graduated from college. In my mind, that’s the job that they always had, because I was only two years old when they started building.

As I’ve gotten older, it’s been fun to learn more about the other things that they’ve done. For instance, I’ve seen them weather hurricanes and housing crashes, but I didn’t know that my dad ran off to LA to become an actor at one point. I didn’t know that my mom went on a business trip to Chicago (where I had lived for over a decade when I learned this) in the winter with only hot pants to wear. I did know that they met at a Mardi Gras parade, on dates with other people, and ended up connecting because neither of them liked parades. Every new story is delightful. Even the old ones I enjoy hearing again, often a new detail will emerge.

From their honeymoon six months after their wedding. My dad was passing through the airport for work and saw a sign that advertised a trip to Jamaica for a cheap price and grabbed the tickets.

When we were growing up, my parents were definitely parents to us. Yes, we had fun family trips together and yes, we enjoyed our childhoods, but there were rules we had to follow, lessons we had to learn and responsibilities that we had. When growing up, a parent is a person who provides guidance, boundaries and security. One who teaches you what you need to know to make your way in the world and lets you know that there’s always someone who loves you in your corner. As I’ve grown up, it’s been fun to learn about my parents as people beyond these things, especially all of the times that they had before I even existed. I like spending time with them. They’re fun to hang out with.

When my sister got married, my dad told me that they could put the amount of money they spent on her wedding into a savings account for me to use when I got married, or I could have it immediately to use as a down payment on a condo. I had just gone through a bad breakup at the time and decided that I might never get married, so I chose the down payment. When Dean proposed and I said yes, nearly a decade later, I informed him that our wedding would be small and that I would be paying for it. I don’t regret it at all. Dean’s mom made my dress out of hers (which had been her mother’s before her) and we had the wedding in my parents yard. We exchanged vows at sunset on their gazebo on the pond. Each person on the wedding party, every single of the guests, were important to us. Why should I ever had wanted a large wedding? My parents had a tiny one, and look where they are today.

Fifty years is a large milestone. My dad wanted a big party with all of their friends in attendance. We had discussed it on their anniversary a year ago. We had moved to Nashville in part to be closer to them and I was excited that I could offer to help him plan. Unfortunately, their golden anniversary fell in the middle of a global pandemic, so they’ll be celebrating small, with Dean and myself and my sister and her family. Outdoors, weather permitting, in the very yard where Dean and I were married.

I’m looking forward to Saturday. Small celebrations are oftentimes the very best. I’m hoping to hear some old stories and maybe learn some new ones. And I will know and love every person in attendance.