More than fifty years ago, (June 12, 1962), my parents eloped in what remains my favorite wedding story of all time. My mom had met my dad's sister Rose in beauty college and the two became fast friends, Auntie Rose often bringing Mom home to Rollingwood where she lived with her parents and her two younger brothers. Soon the whole family was fond of my mother, and Grandma and Auntie Rose began conspiring to set her up with my dad, who was away in the service. They sent him a picture of Mom and suggested they meet when he was home on leave, and Dad -- who had been effortlessly attracting women since grade school according to Aunt Rose -- figured, why not? He arrived on time to pick up his date, and the instant he saw her my father knew -- my mother was the girl he was going to marry. "You remember what Mommy was wearing?" I squealed the first time I heard the story. "Yes, I remember. She was looking down, tucking her blouse into her waistband as she walked towards the door, and when she looked up, I knew I was a goner." "What was Daddy wearing?" I asked my mom in full swoon. "How am I supposed to remember? It was decades ago!" Clearly my father is the romantic in the family.