I’ve described the setting before. A dark and storm October evening, a fitting setting given what we endured to make it to the altar.Every now and then I am reminded of just how many hurtles there were between my proposal and the exchange of our vows. Over dinner Saturday night, Deb’s brothers Jim and Jeff recounted just how hard their father worked to prevent us from marrying. Most of it seems to have been religious in nature – he perceived me as a Jew (I perceived myself to me) and he didn’t think mingling Catholicism and Judaism was wise. He cast a jaundiced eye towards someone who read comic books and wanted to work in publishing. For the eighteen months we were engaged, he threw roadblocks in our way. As we neared the wedding date, Father Tom called him in and basically told him to knock it off or risk losing his daughter entirely. So, he backed off.In time, he mellowed and as I developed a respectable career, made his daughter happy and provided him with grandchildren, he grudgingly grew to like me.Now, my side of the family wasn’t all that supportive. Whereas religion wasn’t an issue in our house until I announced I was marrying a shiksa, my father was adamant that he would not step foot in a Church.No wonder Deb was grinning from ear to ear as we walked down the aisle, legally man and wife.Since that time, we have endured much, most of it unexpected. There have been some terrific highs and some crushing lows. Through it all, we’ve clung to one another for support and continue to do so. We hold on and step forward, sure in the knowledge that we have someone ready to catch us if we fall or cheer us if we succeed.I wouldn’t have it any other way.Somehow, thirty years have passed and we’re still here, still together, and still happy with our choices. I continue to love my wife and can’t imagine life without her.Happy anniversary, Deb!