In our family, hero worship was not unusual. From the moment my father had first laid eyes on my mother—at a public dance where they’d met in May of 1941—he was smitten. And Dad remained smitten with ‘his Jennie’ until late into his eighties, when he’d exhaled his last breath. On countless occasions, I’d watched my dad stand mesmerized, while staring at my mom.
Assuming a relaxed stance—with one hand resting lightly on his hip—Dad would stand before Mom, drinking in his vision of black-eyes and raven tresses, adorning curvaceous, feminine perfection. Standing there, transfixed, smiling widely, Dad’s inner glow of gladness shone forth until his eyes glistened like a pair of star sapphires. Ultimately, an incandescent radiance enhanced my father’s entire being. I kid you not.
As seconds passed Dad’s intoxicated gaze prevailed until Mom blushed and laughingly exclaimed, “Jack! Stop that already!” Then waving her hands, back and forth, before Dad’s face, Mom would break through love’s magic spell. Ultimately, during that final moment—right before his state of heightened awareness descended into the range of normalcy, again, Dad conveyed the depth of his wonder by declaring in a voice filled with awe, “Just look at her. Isn’t she something!
At that point every person in the room who'd witnessed Dad’s naked adoration of my mom, repeatedly, shared an amused glance, all around, until Dad, growing self-aware, realized why his ‘audience’ was chuckling. Then Dad would “bust out laughing” too.
This scenario did not ensue solely when attired for weddings or balls. This was Dad’s natural reaction when Mom appeared, wearing Peter Pan collars, pedal pushers and flats.
Thus did I grow up watching the regenerative powers of magnetic attraction, which had drawn Dad toward Mom at the dance where they’d first met in the spring of 1941. And, all my mother had to do to cast the siren’s spell over her husband’s heart for the next 60 years was—walk into the room.
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