Tonda

At the conclusion of our third date, I matter-of-factly announced to Tonda that I’d like to marry her. It was not really a proposal. It was more of a statement of purpose.

We were standing on the unlighted porch of her parent’s double wide which sat anchored on their 32 acre family compound adjacent to Lake Texoma. The situation was unusual, at least for me (actually, probably anybody) because I’d had a date with her sister, Starling, the night before.

Being in my mid-30s and divorced for several years, I was dating and not overtly looking for a new wife; I thought. I’d had several not-serious dates with Starling and more than several serious dates with Martha who lived in Marshall, a smallish town in east Texas.

Martha was divorced, full of life, the sister and sister-in-law of my best friends in Sherman, and was the daughter of southern aristocracy and respectability. I liked her a lot. Then Tonda, unknowingly, swept me off my feet.

I’d met Tonda briefly in Jack Stafford’s office five years previously. By briefly, I mean the encounter could have been timed in seconds. I remember her having longish red hair and a terrific smile. Unfortunately, I remember little else. 

Our next meeting was when she visited Starling after filing for divorce from Floyd, a manager of a Gibson’s store (an early rival of Wal-Mart). After Starling and I had attended something or other at the country club, we went to her parent’s house, played cards and visited with Tonda and Granny. We had a proper good time and, I’m embarrassed to say, I was now smitten with three women – two of whom were sisters with one of them not officially divorced. Tonda still had that red hair, her vivacious personality and was currently unavailable. 

Within days, in which Starling and I had another date, Tonda returned to her home and five year old daughter, Courtney, in central Texas, but you know what they say about “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

In the meantime, Starling and I had a few more dates, but my ardor had slackened considerably. Thank goodness Martha was still in east Texas.

Then one day Tonda reappeared, this time for good, and she and Courtney moved into a very tiny travel trailer (a cat could jump from front to back) that was a stone’s throw from her sister. Life was again somewhat complicated, but I didn’t care. Tonda’s divorce was officially immanent so I asked her out.

Tonda, being the kind person that she is, asked her sister, “How serious are you and Allen?”

“Not too,” replied Star. “Why?”

“Allen has asked me out and I wondered if you’d mind,” responded my non-officially divorced future wife. 

“Sure, why not,” said Starling, taking care of a third of my dilemma. 

Without me telling Martha, Martha knew that the attraction was gone. We’d last seen each other before my fateful third date with Tonda. Maybe she could tell something from the tone in my voice during that last call. Maybe she had also met someone or someone, at least, closer to her home. I’ll never know. I do know that she later met and married a surgeon in that smallish town in east Texas and hopefully lived happily ever after.

Meanwhile, Tonda and I dated with the energy that somehow thrives on the lack of sleep. I was working full time in my studio in Denison and acting in a community theater in Sherman until 10 p.m. each night. I’d then drive out to her -did I mention small- trailer. We talked until the wee hours and Courtney would either fall asleep in Tonda’s arms or had drifted off while I was in the middle of Act II.

Tonda’s divorce became final and we set an indefinite date for sometime in the future. We were now officially engaged.

One of the first persons we told was Jack Stafford, our good friend and assistant minister of our church. We asked him to officiate our marriage, but, much to our surprise, he refused, saying, “It’s much too soon after Tonda’s divorce. It will never work. I won’t do it.” 

We decided to decide later about the minister. No marriage date was set with both of us agreeing that when the time was right, “We’ll do it.”

Fall and winter passed with us blending our two families. My ex returned to nursing school in Ft. Worth to become a nurse anesthetist and I gained custody of my kids Andy and Kelly. Courtney and Kelly became sisters almost immediately, and Andy discovered baseball cards and loud music. Tonda and my ex became good friends and I discovered they are very much alike. By the way, Tonda’s ex (remember Floyd) tried to talk her out of our engagement by warning her I was “a ladies man.” I took it as a backhanded compliment, and I think Tonda just laughed.

Despite Floyd, all the kids, and the smallish trailer, one fine day in late April when the birds were chirping, the leaves were returning and the planets swung into alignment we decided, “It was time.” We got the license, called the other minister and our parents. “We’re getting married on Saturday at First Presbyterian Church and we’d love for you to be there,” was our simple verbal invitation. Jethro, my German Shepherd/Saint Bernard stood-in as best dog. We and the three kids were married on a bright sunny morning in the church courtyard, with parents and Starling as witnesses.

That afternoon our honeymoon commenced with us buying two carts piled with groceries and Tonda watching me play in a softball game. 

That was 29 years and three months ago. I couldn’t be happier. I made the perfect choice. Jack has made a lot of terrific decisions in his life but boy, was he wrong on this one.  But, we still love him and rib him about it every chance we get.