Author’s Note: If you are likely to be offended by what today would be considered masculist language, this story from some forty-five years past is not for you. Thanks for reading but, skip this chapter. Disclaimer: With the challenges I’d faced to this point, (Think: Vietnam, Crohn’s disease) I believe I have license to extol the good times too. Here’s what I missed: The free love period (was in VN), last three year’s of marriage and my age 15-17 celibate years. That’s six years plus.
WARNING: Egotistical Rodomontade Ahead:
I had the privilege to meet and date scores of smart and beautiful women in my five and one-half years in Colorado. A few asked me out, and some sent me flowers. After the twins were with me, I had more than one very attractive marriage offer. Seems women thought it was a great thing for a father to do, taking on the responsibility and caring for his children alone, girls especially. I was appreciative and fortunate, but never seriously considered marriage at the time with the special needs the twin’s required. A permanent relationship, matrimony, I thought, would put an unnecessary burden on my preteen children and a new wife. It was perfectly fine for the twins to see me with different women, coming and going, though? I didn’t say it was a perfect plan. Hold on, the children aren’t even here yet.
SORRY, I tried to make picture smaller.
In the late-70s in Denver, a 6’ 3” “good-looking” tanned-single-man with an afro and full beard who was a popular DJ and Master of Ceremonies for touring Rock and Country bands, on the University of Denver intramural basketball team and knew how to treat a lady — could get a date. Now imagine that man with a vasectomy. With those attributes, owning a Porsche was not only unnecessary, but superfluous. With so many opportunities, tough choices had to be made.
To understate it dramatically: Life was so good. It could have ended right there.
I would never be so crass as to estimate the number of women I dated, but if I were forced to, I would need to count with all my fingers, okay, toes too. And there were periods; several months at a time, I was in love, dating just one woman. I know, I know, what a sacrifice. Despite explicit scenes of war and peril that I unequivocally depict elsewhere on these pages, any sexual escapades that may have emanated from my interaction with the fairer sex — will not be. However, if you let your imagination flourish ne plus ultra, you will have a good idea of the responsibility and delight that came with me dating so many.
I promised the women in my life who were especially good to me that I would treat them kindly in my book. Now with My Life At The Limit finally a reality. Here is my promise kept.
In random order:
I’ll stop here, lest I am accused of boasting. For those inadvertently left off, you’re just lucky, I guess.
Swinging with my tamed afro. (Swan archives)
Life was good, everything was going great, but one thing was lurking below the surface — the twins. I was here in the Mile High, having a wonderful time, and my Momma in her mid-sixties and Daddy at seventy were taking care of two six-year-olds in Mississippi without modern conveniences. The twins had been with her since Marty sent them there in late 1974, almost three years ago. I needed to make a decision. Would I leave them with Momma indefinitely, have them stay until they turned eighteen? I knew the right thing to do, even with me in college full-time, working full time, and dating full-time. Bringing them to live with me in Colorado would be a major adjustment for all of us. An understatement, indeed.
Do I presently have the most amazing wife (readers too) who are not bothered by me, including in my life story, such nonsense as featuring these women in my book? That would be a yes, (excuse my language) hell yes!