I met her

I was six when I met her.

She had red hair and a funny nose, the kind that beautiful women often have when they are six. Instantly I did not like her.

My father was killed in an accident when I was 4, and he was 28. A couple years later my mom went to bible camp to work as cooks helper (grandma was the head cook) and I was allowed to tag along. As I wondered around the camp, I met a man who took an interest in me. We became fast friends for a couple of weeks. He was a 40 something orchardist and I a lonely 6 year old.

That fall mom took my sister and me on a trip to spend time with my father’s sister and her family. It happened to be the same town that the orchardist called home. He was at church. That was fine, but then this little red head bounced up to tell me that she was his daughter. Males were few in my life as it was, and I instantly didn’t like the idea of sharing this one.

(Later, she told me that she remembered that meeting. After I had been a bit short -- ok a little naughty to her -- she said she stood back and looked at me and thought to herself -- she swears this is true -- “that brat will probably be my husband some day.”

That is how we met. Not very promising from my direction, and alittle fatalistic from hers!