As of today, my parents have been married for 39 years. Having been married a paltry four and a half, this makes me feel like a real rookie. I don’t think I would’ve been as eager to marry Scott without their influence, without this grand example of what marriage should look like hovering around me for two decades. Sometimes I feel self-conscious when I tell someone I was married at age 21, but then I think of my parents, who tied the proverbial knot at ages 19 and 20. In time, they had three kids—and I think we turned out more than adequate, all things considered; we’re all Adults with Jobs and Relatively Stable Home Lives—and built a home in western Michigan after years of living in the suburbs of Detroit. Now, they both have jobs they find fulfilling, an active presence in a pretty cool church, and many, many friends, friends who are genuine and kind and provide them with support in their day to day lives.
As important as it is to me to retain my individuality—to be the best Christy I can be, at all times and in all places—it still makes me happy to hear that I’m like my parents. Why wouldn’t I be?