The Story of Us
Hi! I’m Hank! And I’m here to tell you a story.
My mom and dad met four years ago on something called Hinge, where my mom gave my dad a rose (that meant she really liked him). Mom was the persistent one, frequently inviting Dad to join in on the awesomeness of her life. A string of disappointing dates had made my dad a little hesitant, but a friend nudged him to meet my mom at Denver’s City Park anyway, and he did.
Their first date went the way that a lot of first dates go, which is kind of awkwardly. Neither of them knew what to expect after it ended, but they kept coming back together again and again. Then they got COVID and quarantined together. One social-distanced night in my mom’s tiny attic apartment, where she was reading as my dad played the mandolin and sang in the background, they ate Chinese takeout together and it hit her—Mom realized how much she loved having Dad around. That’s when she knew she loved him.
Dad remembers eating Thai food, not Chinese, that fateful night. But that’s neither here nor there. He’s not quite sure if it was that same night or later that week, but it was definitely in that small attic apartment with awkwardly low ceilings that was always either too cold or too hot that Dad knew he loved Mom, too.
That spring they took their first trip together, to Crested Butte in Dad’s Astro Van, where they parked illegally on the street and, along with my brother Basil, slept crammed in Dad’s home on wheels that suffered a cracked windshield from the heat difference. Soon they visited friends in Washington and eventually Dad got Mom into rock climbing.
They developed a tradition of lovingly giving each other the middle finger and delighting in landing perfectly-timed, totally silly inside jokes no matter the situation. They became familiar with how each other’s brains work differently from the other’s. From Mom’s bemusement at what triggers the very limited instances of Dad’s anger to Dad watching the wheels of Mom’s mind turn as she pieces something he thinks is obvious together, they nurtured a gentle patience with each other that underlies their love today.
It was during the many lightly planned outdoor adventures, excursions, and experiences across hiking, skiing, backpacking, and camping they’ve shared together ever since they met—including a near-death experience in Hawaii that only narrowly avoided ending in an emergency helicopter evacuation—that Mom and Dad grew so fond of each other that they decided to start a life together.
My dad living in a van and my mom living in a cramped, third-floor walk-up meant they had to get a house in order to make me happen. So that’s what they did, reveling in the low key rebelliousness of doing things in an unexpected order together. (Not that they didn’t talk about putting my crib in the closet of Mom’s apartment and just making it happen.) They made a sweet little Sunnyside house with a sprawling garden into a home before they brought me into the world last year.
Then, while hiking with friends in Moab, Dad popped the question to the woman who was not only not scared of his Astro van life, but actively into it on her favorite day of the year, Halloween. He didn’t tell anyone that he was going to do it to keep the pressure at bay. But it didn’t matter—it was easy for Mom to say yes to the man who makes life so safe, easy, fun, and playful; to the man who swapped his Astro Van for a Sprinter van build out and eventually for a pickup and a truck camper to accommodate me, little Hank, and the life they want to live together.
Now we’re here, celebrating the next phase of our life with you—our loved ones, our once separate friend groups that have blended into a little jam that constitutes the band of our life—by our side.
We can’t wait to celebrate with you. See you soon!