Days arise upon which our personal existences rest. Our birthdays are an obvious example. In my case, today is another. Forty-nine years ago my parents Joseph and Theresa “Terri” wed.
From their blessed union, three sons, a daughter, and I would be conceived in the following decade.
In Jan. 2009, I spoke with my parents about how they found each other, which apparently was at a regular Catholic young adult gathering across the street from St. John’s Cathedral in Fresno around Nov. 1962.
“That was officially where I had enough nerve to approach her (and ask), ‘Didn’t I see you? We met before’,” my father recalled, “She probably thought that was a lot of…”