Still a Sixteen Year Old Boy

When we were both fifteen, I jumped on your Cadillac’s hood and scratched the hell out of it as only a dancing teenage girl could do. I remember you watching me with sparkly hazel eyes, as if I was a pet, and you were so proud that I was yours, and brand new. I did not hear a word about the damage for forty-four or five years, even though you probably went home and cried some. You remind me how darling I was on that date, and how fascinated you were with me, That I was so adorable and winsome. Time and time again over breakfast, lunch and supper, you have reminded me how thrilling I was on that first date, To fall head over heels in love with me, even though I ruined the paint on your car, sealed your fate. You have been my sunshine man, a hero with a sense of humor, a marvelous husband, a great daddy, with loads of charm. I wish we still had that 1959 pink Cadillac with the chrome tail fins. I never meant to do her any harm. I love it that you kept the damage to yourself for so many long winters, short summers, and colorful falls. I have been proud to call you my husband, and I know you have made all of the correct husbandly duty calls. We have been together for nigh onto fifty years now, but when I look at you coming through the screen, The man I see on the other side, winking at me, is a handsome boy of almost but not quite sixteen.