Fifteen years ago. Today.

The date. 15th February 1997.  It was a day like any other day for most.  I still remember the day so clearly all these years ago.  It was a Saturday and a friend from high school had just gotten back from au pairing in Holland.  We decided to celebrate by going out.  Actually thinking about it, there was actually no question about not going out on a Saturday night!  I was nineteen, a student and that’s just what we did.  We studied and worked hard during the week and weekends we went out and partied.  To be honest we partied quite a bit during the week too.   

Typically the Doors in Marshall street was our club of choice.  Saturdays meant free entry thanks to the comps we received the night before.  That is what kind of regulars we were.  Except this Saturday night was different.  My friend in question wasn’t your average head banging alternative rock fan like myself so after a little convincing I geared up for a night on the town at one of the more commercialized clubs where doof doof replaced bang bang.  We went to Bagdad Café. Now please don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a club snob at all.  In those days I could have fun just about anywhere if it included music, friends and a chilled Hunters Gold.  And if memory serves me correctly that’s exactly what the night consisted of except for something a little extra that I didn’t expect would happen.  

It was a hot humid night and we were sitting outside chatting and laughing around the wooden railway sleepers.  Another high-school friend who tagged along invited her new boyfriend and in turn he brought along a rugby team of friends.  They were big, they were tall and some of them were quite handsome.  They joined us at our table.  I was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible because to be honest they just weren’t my type.  My type normally wore Dr Martens, had long hair and sported a few tattoo’s.  They didn’t look that type at all. 

I felt a little odd.  Up until he came and introduced himself.  Your dad that is. 

That moment our eyes locked I knew.  I knew he would play an inexplicable part in my future but I didn’t realize how big.  I was intrigued by him.  He was an artist.  My heart trembled.  I loved the mind of a creative.  He was different, he was interesting and he was accepting.  He accepted me for all my funny quirky ways and he still does.  We danced.  We laughed. And we lost ourselves in each other as the hot humidity turned into a mild thunderstorm.  It didn’t deter us and we sat under the rumbling sky like old lovers. 

So kids, that is how I met your dad.  It turned out he was my type after-all even though it took him over a decade to own a pair of Dr Martens and get a tattoo.


13 thoughts on “Fifteen years ago. Today.

  1. Such a beautiful story. My favourite part of hearing/ reading these kind of stories of how people met, is how they always know. It is something you cannot understand, until it happens to you.

  2. Aww! I for one met my man at The Doors (but it had moved to Edenvale by then, what can we say, we were late starters in the romance dept.) I felt amazing in his company within minutes, and knew I wanted to see more and more and more of him. See what quality you can pick up in a bar? ;)

  3. Love it :) The Doors used to be a favourite of mine too, albeit in the late 80’s, early 90’s. I’m showing my age now! Can’t say i met anyone decent there ever, but we did have a lot of fun…
    I wrote a similar post about meeting my husband too, must be all this “love is in the air” for Valentine’s day. Congrats, and wishing you many more happy years together too

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