Eighteen years ago today, two impossibly young kids went off to the justice of the peace in Iowa City with $30 rings they bought from JC Penney. I look at the pictures of us then, and I can’t believe we are still here and still together. I’d do it all over again–all of it–the student loans, the hideous dumpster couches, the cross-country moves–all of it, but only if Mr. Miller came along.
After all this time, Mr. Miller is still my best friend and a bemused participant in the tsunami—material, intellectual, emotional—that is living with me. He is my Galahad, my Sydney Carton, my Cyrano, and my Mr. Big. The wind beneath my wings? Please–Mr. Miller is the air I breathe, the water I drink, the food I eat, and my conscience. This is not an easy job.
Here’s to forever, old boy.