I met her on the stairs and that’s was when it first started. I was 18 and she was 19. I knew she was the one with those eyes and the beautiful, dirty blonde hair. She looked like a goddess, but she wasn’t dressed like one. She wore casual blue jeans with the baby blue t-shirt. I said hello; she said hi. I asked her what her name was. “Ayra… Ayra Jackson,” she replied. She just transferred from Union University. Sophomore in college she was. I asked her on a date. She said yes.


Out on the small town we got dinner. Sitting there eating pizza we talked. I really liked her. As we walked around town she slipped on ice. I caught her. She smiled at me. I stood her up, but I didn’t let go. As I stood there I built up the courage to say those words, “Will you be my girlfriend?” As I stood there waiting for her response, still holding her, I looked her in the eyes. She looked me in the eyes. She put her head down then on my chest, holding me close to her. “Yes,” she responded. “Yes.”


Today I am 90 now. I married that beautiful girl 70 years ago. Ayra just passed away. 70 years of wonderful marriage. Through the bad, the good, the tough, the easy and the sad; we always loved each other. To this day I still remember the day I met her on the stairs, where it all began.