Before You Were Born

Stories from our parents' surprisingly romantic youth.

By Chris Mathias

When I was a kid, my parents loved to tell the story of how they met. My dad was in a band that played at my mom's sister's wedding. At the time, he was also an ordained Franciscan friar. Recently, I went home to get the whole story.

 

Dad, how long were you in the order before you met Mom?

D: Eight years.

The first of which you were in seclusion, right?

D: The first two years, yeah, total seclusion. Especially the second year, which is called the novitiate year, where you're away from everything for an entire year, no contact with the outside world, parents, whatever.

So what were you doing in DC?

D: After I finished the novitiate year I went to college for four years near Boston, and after Boston I went to medical school in Georgetown, which is why I went to DC.

Can you describe when you met Mom?

D: Well, I also played the bass fiddle and would frequently play and sing at Sunday masses at the friary.

With other friars?

D: With other friars. So Eileen's sister Kathy was getting married and she heard about these people who sang at weddings. They came to listen to us at Sunday mass and Eileen was the maid of honor, so she came along to audition us. And that's how we met.

So you guys met at a Sunday mass?

D: The very first time I ever saw Mom, yes.

Did you guys talk?

D: Yeah. But I mean, it was nothing. We were just acquaintances and that was it.

M: [My sister] thought it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen, and then the next time I saw him was at the wedding a month or so later.

So Dad's playing at Aunt Kathy's wedding...

M: Dad's playing at Aunt Kathy's wedding — actually, I dont' know if you remember this, but I was in there about an hour before the wedding. I was in the church, I had curlers in my hair and I was wearing a flannel shirt, and you guys were in there warming up.

D: It was after the wedding, after the ceremony, when I was packing up the instruments. Mom came up to me and said, "Would you like to come to the reception?" And I said... well, I had a really big exam the following Monday —

M: This was on a Friday.

D: It was a pharmacology exam and it was on laxatives —

M: I almost lost out to laxatives!

D: And I said, "I really have to go back and study. I've got a big exam on Monday." And she said, "Oh come on, just come to the reception. It won't be long." And I said, "No I really can't." And she said, "Well, I'm not gonna beg you." And when she said that, I thought "Oh I just offended her." So I said, "Well, I'll come for a short time." We danced at the reception and um, then... What happened was, it probably would've ended there, but there was some guy at the wedding —

M: I'm trying to remember his name.

D: Who Mom had dated in the past. And in Mom's mind, she was over with this guy, but in his mind he still had a hold over Mom. And he noticed that Mom and I were dancing, and he was a little drunk. So as I was heading back to my car in the parking lot —

By the way, are you still in garb?

D: No, at that point I was just in normal clothes. But we were in the parking lot on the way back to the car and this guy comes up and starts making a fuss that we'd been dancing or whatever, and Mom tells him basically to bug off. There was a little scene and we went our separate ways.

So Mom, a part of the story you always told was that you saw Dad singing "Sunshine On My Shoulders."

M: The three of them sang "Paul Stooki's Wedding Song" at the beginning of the wedding, and at the end he was singing "Sunshine On My Shoulders" by John Denver. I remember thinking, "Hm... not the best rendition."

D: They kept teasing me for the way I sang "shouderrrs".

M: But he just looked like he was absolutely and completely enjoying himself. I thought he had beautiful hair. I thought it was cute.

What'd you like about Mom?

D: She was pretty hot! The whole package, really. Everything seemed to fit. Personality fit. We had the same interests. It just felt right.

M: We didn't have to say "Do we fit?" We just did.