Sweetheart

The date was January 4th, 1985. There he sat in his navy blue, ’83 Chevy Citation, a four-door hatchback he had bought when he was twenty, holding a small wooden box in his hands with the word “sweetheart” inscribed on the lid. He had packed his car to its fullest capacity in preparation for the move from New Orleans, to his new home in Hammond, Southeastern Louisiana University. The weather was exceptionally cool for the climate, but there he sat sweating like he had just jogged a mile.

He had many reasons to be anxious. SLU was hardly a picture of his dream college, but this is where life had taken him. Did he really want to leave everything he knew and move away to Hammond? Sure, he enjoyed his privacy and the freedom he experienced while at college, but he felt a certain security being under the provision of his parents and family. These were the questions he had wrestled with for the past couple of months. But the questions they presented, paled in comparison to the dilemma posed by this small box in his hands.

He and this box were well acquainted. After all, he had known it since the age of sixteen. Between then and now, he did not have much use for it. For being a box, it barely served its purpose at all. The past six years the box had not held one thing. It did not store. It did not preserve. It just set on a shelf in his closet-much like he was sitting in his car now-waiting to fulfill its purpose.

He opens the lid. The redolence of cedar creeps toward his nose reminding him of the many times he has held it and imagined its potential. To the normal passerby, the box looked like any other average keepsake. But he knew its power. If bestowed at the wrong time, it could change the course of his life forever. If it fell into the “wrong” hands, it could do irreparable damage. He begins to second-guess himself and considers calling the whole thing off, but this is the one thing that has felt right to him these first twenty one years. He could not sacrifice another moment to doubt.

She should be here any minute. He leans over to adjust the volume on the radio. The Imperials hardly set the mood for what he was preparing to do. He considers changing the music to something a little more romantic, but this is what he knows. It’s what they both know: Christianity. He glances into the rear-view mirror and adjusts the one hair that still manages to remain unstyled.

He inspects the box a final time to ensure it is still presentable. It no more belonged to him than the very heart beating in his chest at that moment. She had given them both purpose-something to dream about, something to live for. Five years previous, he bought this box to give to the woman he wanted to marry. That’s what he was going to do. He found that woman. That is what he did.

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This is the story of my mom and dad’s engagement back in 1985. In one day it will be their 23 year anniversary of engagement. Congratulations Mom and Dad and congratulations to my sister who recently got engaged this past week.