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 a license to extol the good times too. Here's what I missed: The free love period (I was in VN), the last three years of marriage, and my age 15-17 celibate years. That’s six years plus.

I had the privilege to meet and date scores of intelligent 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. It 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 unique needs the twins required. A permanent relationship, matrimony, I thought, would put an unnecessary burden on my preteen children and a new wife.

But it was perfectly fine for the twins to see me with different women, coming and going.  I didn’t say it was a perfect plan. Hold on; the children aren’t even here yet.

Warning: Egotistical Rodomontade Ahead:

          Don in 1976. (Credit Sam Trott)

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. But, 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, (over a 17 year period)  but if I were forced to, I would need to count with all my fingers, okay, toes too. And there were several months at a time when 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:

PamJeanJodieDiDiDorindaGingerJoyceKathyCharleanLeaSandyMarciNormaMarshaSonnyPattyKelaPennyDarleenBevLindaCarolynMaryTrishVerlaSusanLoriRoseDebbieDeboraMartiDinahDoryKayBeckyJaneGeorgiaMargieMarilynClaudiaB.J.EarleneSallyJessicaChrisMichalynTerryAngieMeaganJanPattiJoMendyOliviaKaleaCherylCourtneyCynthiaAmyNancyJoan.

 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 significant adjustment for all of us. That is an understatement, indeed