This is the story of how my dad met my mother. 

The year was 1982.

He was the bad-boy foreign exchange student from Germany, and had a bad attitude to boot. He used to walk through the halls of the highschool and give the girls looks that made them giggle and blush. He had a major case of senioritis and wore leather jackets that would have made John Travolta jealous. Inside though, he wished that the world would stop spinning around him.

She was a straight-A sophomore that walked to school just to conserve fossil fuels. She twirled a rifle in the color guard, competed for HOSA, and returned all her library books on time. The Beatles were her only escape from an alcoholic father and a mother that worked too much. She longed for her world to be still. 

The first time they ever made eye contact was in court. Their eyes locked and in the silent seconds that followed, a million feelings were exchanged. He had been caught spray painting the outside walls of the school with the words "SUCK A**E", and the evidence was still clear on his hands. She was merely there for moral support for a boyfriend that got pulled over on a scooter. The day after, she scored his landline number from a mutual friend and called him up, asking if he remembered her from court. 

Turns out, my mother was the one who had experienced a magical moment, but after guessing four wrong names and two hair colors, he agreed to take her out bowling anyway. 

In the months that followed, they had an open relatiionship. He often had to reschedule dates to go out with other girls, and she made up excuses to cover her disapointment. After only four months of knowing one another, he left to go home to Germany at the end of the school year. 

For two years they corresponded via snail mail.

In 1984, she walked out of a classroom to find him leaning up against the lockers with a toothpick stuck in his mouth. 

A month later, she graduated high school with a wedding gown under her robes. 

The day after that, they moved to Berlin, Germany. 

Their first son was born October 31, 1985. 

They left Berlin three months before the Wall came down, and their old neighbors mailed them eight pounds of rubble as evidence. 

A small, quiet house in the mountains of North Carolina became their permanent settlement. Their next three children were born in the back bedroom of that very home. He passed out every time, but she still let him name every one of them. 

Now, he collects and repairs Volkswagens, and she works as a midwife. 

And everything is still.