Hugh Neeld: The Curmudgeon Report

Ah! Another Valentine Day is upon us. I’ve talked to several different people who write weekly columns, such as I, and they all suffer from the same compulsion to write a special column appropriate to a current holiday or other annual observance. Don’t ask me why.

In writing a Valentine column, most writers start with a little information about it's origins and history, how it has evolved into what it is today, and some cute and/or sentimental poems and anecdotes. No, I thought when I sat down at the word processor, this time we’ll do something a little different. Valentine’s Day is all about love, so a simple, mostly true account of some of my own experiences in that arena might be appropriate.

I was 19 when I came home from the Navy in 1948. Without undue delay, I met several young ladies, one of whom I liked in particular. It was during this time that I learned an invaluable lesson about girls — you never really know one until you’ve met her parents. Back then, if a girl’s parents really liked me, I knew there had to be something wrong with them. I wouldn’t have let my daughter date a guy like me.

I remember the first time I met my girl’s parents. Her dad cut to the chase: “Sounds like you’ve got a good job, son. How much do you make?”

Her mother chimed in, “What a nice looking young man,” pinching my cheek. “So, when are you two crazy kids getting married?”

“Well, actually,” I said, “I just met your daughter.”

It didn’t even slow her down.

“Look,” she said, “if you don’t want to marry her now, you can at least move in with us. Clarence, get this young man a set of house keys.”

Show me a mother who is eager to unload her daughter, and I’ll show you a mother with a lemon. Needless to say, that romance ran its course in short order. I came away from the encounter more cautious and cagey than ever.

There were other romances over the next few years, some of shorter duration than others, and even a marriage which ended in divorce. I remember reading a story in the newspaper, back during that trying time, about a man in Provo, Utah. He had five wives and 30 children and was sentenced to five years in the pen in Utah’s biggest polygamy case in half-a-century. I could only imagine how relieved that poor slob must have been.

Having recently celebrated a 26th wedding anniversary, I’m confident I’ve at long last found my true valentine, and feel comfortable enough in our relationship to share something with you I ran across on the internet:

Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.
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