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Kelly & Mike
Kelly and I met in Boston, Massachusetts. We were going to the same church, so we knew of each other for a long time before we really noticed each other. We also later found out that we had probably crossed paths years earlier while I was serving a church mission in New Jersey and she was visiting her parents who lived in the Princeton area at the time. Still, it would be years before we would both move to the Boston area and hang out at a game night and notice how cool—and cute—the other was.
It wasn’t long after that that I got an invitation to Kelly’s birthday party on Facebook. She claims that she invited everyone from our church, but I took it—and still choose to take it—as a sign that she was into me. At the time, though, she was actually surprised to see me show up at the party. And it’s a good thing that I showed up because that was the first chance that we had to talk one on one and we discovered our mutual love of baseball.
“Oh, you’re a baseball fan,” I said.
I have loved baseball since I was playing tee-ball at C-Bar-C Park. I hadn’t ever expected to find a girl who shared that passion. Sports fans among girls are rare enough and baseball fans seem rare among all sports fans these days. It’s slower pace, intricacies, and history—the very qualities that I love about it—don’t seem to be appreciated in our modern world. But despite all of the odds being against it, here was a fellow lover of baseball, a box score checking junkie after my own heart.
“Oh, yeah,” you said. “We love baseball in my family.”
I know I had to get to know you better. And—I knew it was too soon to hope at this point, but I was hoping anyway—if everything went well, I’d be getting to know that family of yours too.
I knew that a girl who loves baseball is a girl who has to be taken seriously.
On our first date, we spent hours talking about everything from books to TV shows to the atrocity that is the designated hitter. She also claims that I wouldn’t shut up about being an English major, but apparently it didn’t annoy her too much. While I was driving her home, I realized that we hadn’t discussed our favorite movies, so I asked her what hers was. She said, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” I was shocked. It’s a Wonderful Life has been my favorite movie since I was a kid, so I was sure that she had stalked my Facebook page and was just saying that to mess with me. But it was true. We share the same favorite movie and we’ve watched it every year on Christmas Eve every year since.
A few months later (probably fewer months than I should admit to), I knew I wanted to marry this girl, so I devised a grand plan for how I was going to propose. It involved climbing a mountain, swimming in a pond, walking barefoot in the grass—very romantic stuff (and if you are familiar with our favorite movie, you’ll recognize all of the stuff that George suggests doing with Violet). But there wasn’t time for any of that, so I forgot about the whole thing and opted for popping the question at Prospect Hill, which has a fantastic view of the Boston skyline. I scoped it out a few nights before and there wasn’t a soul there. I imagined this romantic scene: myself going down on one knee in this private setting with a gorgeous view, the sparkle of tear in her eye as she realizes what I’m going to ask and trying to wait until I’ve finally asked it before shouting “Yes!” as loudly as she can…but when we got there, it was full of a bunch of shady characters that were probably doing drug deals. Not quite as romantic as I imagined. But we found a secluded corner and I popped the question.
She said “Yes,” but she kept her voice down. She didn’t want to draw too much attention from those shady characters, though I’m sure they would have been happy for us.
