The date September 11 holds a myriad of emotions for many people. Who can forget that terrible day of infamy eleven years ago? However, for me, it will always be my parents' anniversary.
My mother has been gone for 15 years now, my father 5 years, but I cherish their memory, cherish this date. Unlike couples of today, my parents didn't have a splashy "white wedding."
They married during the years of World War II, my mother in a simple yellow suit and my father dressed equally as modestly. There were no catered refreshments, flower arrangements, bridesmaids, or groomsmen. Shortly after their marriage, my father shipped out to serve in the Pacific Theatre. My mother remained at home, working to support herself and build a nest egg for them.
These two young people had no sense of entitlement, indeed, would have been baffled at the word and the concept. When my father returned to the States, he, too, started work, going to school at night to obtain a degree. Work, and more work, were their watchwords,
Years later, after the births of my sister and myself, my parents made the trip from their home in the east to Salt Lake City, where they were sealed for time and all eternity in the Salt Lake City Temple.
This I know for sure: my parents' union and their love for each other persists today.