Save the last dance

Fourteen years ago tonight, I danced my first-ever dance with my wife. We had, of course, danced many times before, but never as husband and wife. That night, those two words were still a novelty to both of us. Within the blur that was our wedding, the newness of it all still hadn't sunk in.

According to Jewish tradition, we got married under the chupah. It's a covering of ornate cloth that's held up by four posts. The meaning is that you start with a roof, and you are now challenged to build a foundation and walls, and within them a strong home for your family.

I spent the day home from work today, an anniversary tradition that my wife and I have evolved in recent years. We went to the beach, another anniversary tradition, and spent a quiet day simply being with each other. We took the kids out to dinner to celebrate - they all do an excellent rendition of the Flintstones now-classic "Happy Anniversary" song - and as we came home, it suddenly dawned on me:

I watched our three munchkins stand on the porch of our home, and all I could think was this: we made all of this. We had them. We built that proverbial home. We carved out a life for us and for them. Everything arrayed before me at that moment hadn't existed when I danced with my wife that night.

Yet it all seems to have gone by in a blink.

Part of me feels I'm not doing a good enough job remembering the subtle thoughts and feelings of each day along our journey as a family. Another part of me says I shouldn't worry about the time-speed thing: time does, after all, fly when you're having fun.

And that's the bottom line in this magical adventure known as our marriage, our family, our life: I am quite obviously having fun. I can't help but feel that this is what I was meant to do, that this amazing woman and blazingly unique children were all meant to be part of my life; to in fact be my life.

The Yiddish word, bashert, is often heard in our home. It means fated; meant to be. She is. They are. We are. I am. Fourteen years in, I'm praying we have so many more years to appreciate everything we've built.

Your turn: If you've never e-met my wife before, you're missing out on an extraordinary individual, and I hope you take a moment to drop her a line. She makes me tick, keeps me focused and balanced, and inspires me to ignore what everyone else is saying and simply listen to my heart. Just what a writer needs if he's going to break paradigms and change lives.

On so many levels, I don't deserve all I have. Which makes me even more thankful that I do.