How I Met Your Mother
Well, I grew up in a large household in Amsterdam. It was crowded: I had seven sisters and two brothers! Your grandfather was a librarian at the university library, and your grandmother cleaned houses so we could all be fed.
I got along with all of my siblings, but my favorite ones were my older brother Denman and my youngest sister Clara. Denman was such a clown, just like you. And Clara was so gentle and creative- just like you, also!
I went to the university after high school, getting degrees in world history and ministering (I think that's how you would say it). I wasn't exactly smart, but I loved school. Being a minister seemed the right thing to do because I wanted to share with others the word of God.
There were women that came in and out of my life, but none of them were special. Some were beautiful, some were smart, some were sleazy, some were good cooks- none of them were my taste.
I joined the Peace Corps when I was twenty-two. I was single at the time, and I was hoping I could find someone who shared my interests of helping others around the world. Within a month, I got a missionary position to go to the Pacific Islands.
There were a group of us going to go. Hanna, a young pediatrician trying to make a difference in the world; Brandy, a patient and older schoolteacher; Luc, a man who's only job was to speak the languages of the world; Corey, a scientist sponsored by the government to do research and improve their way of living; and me, Élan, a newly-ordained minister sent to convert the primitive peoples of the islands to Christianity.
We met at the New Zealand base shortly after we were assigned our mission: there were sixteen island communities and/or countries that were commonwealths of New Zealand, and we would spend six weeks in each community.
The islands weren't big at all. They were about the size of a town back in Amsterdam. Everyone knew each other and their doings.
The first island was, oh I don't remember. What I do remember is that these people were so primitive that they didn't want us anywhere near their precious island, and I didn't blame them at all.
The second island was Paik Isle. It was noted for its emerald-green hills, its artisans that lived in the valleys, and its rich agriculture from the tops of the hills. It was similar to the romanticized countryside in Ireland.
I was surprised to see European-looking folk there. They talked in English, they wore clothing, they used almost up-to-date tools to make a living- it was quite a difference from the first island. Plus, Paik Islanders actually didn't mind us living there for six or so weeks.
The first house we were at was a cottage on the Eastern shore. There was an old man who wore a white tee, black suspenders, black trousers, and a taxi hat. He smoked a pipe and sang folk music while playing his ukulele. He introduced himself as Sire Della, and he also introduced his daughter, Star, and his granddaughters: December, Rikka, and Adima.
I think I have never seen someone so like December. She was tiny with a curvy figure, tan skin from working long days in the pasture, wavy blonde hair that was bleached by the sun, full pink lips that outlined the most amazing innocent smile, and light blue eyes the color of the summer sky.
There was a problem. She was only seventeen, whereas I was twenty-two. Her aunt Star was fascinated by my knowledge of world history, her sisters were young and regarded me as an older brother, and her grandfather was a very hard man to please.
I did my fair share around the house to get his attention. They had been a sheepherding family since as far back as they could remember, so I helped December and Rikka shear the furry sheep as well as pack it for shipping when the New Zealand ship came by to pick up the small commonwealth's goods.
On Sundays, I gathered in the center of what would be the equivalent of Amsterdam's town hall. It was outdoors, with the benches arranged as if I were holding a play instead of a sermon.
People would hear my stories about God, much as if I were the storyteller of Paik. I had quite a few followers, and eventually some people asked for their own copy of the Bible.
When I would go home from the sermon, December would always sit me down on the sofa and make me explain "this whole God business." She could read and write and do math problems like any high school student could, but she would rather me read stories from the Bible- especially psalms she could sing to.
December had the most amazing voice. She would sing and even birds would be quiet so they could hear her. She would dance and sing, even if it was by herself in the middle of meadow.
That's when I realized I had to marry her. Someone so dedicated to her work, someone who loved being around children, someone who didn't care what other thought of her, someone who wanted to be closer to God.
That night, I asked her grandfather if I could have his granddaughter's hand in marriage.
"No," he said abruptly.
"Oh," I faltered.
"She's much too young," he muttered while chewing on his pipe.
I nodded.
"But maybe when Adima gets to be fifteen…" he trailed off.
"Oh, Sire, I was talking about December!" I hurried.
He chuckled with a twinkle in his mischievous eyes. "I know," he smiled. "I was just joking with you."
The whole entire Paik Isle was invited to the wedding the next week. I had no idea what the rituals consisted of, but it wasn't exactly hard. All I had to do was sit in front of the Elder and kiss December when it was all over. In fact, it was much easier and faster than the typical Amsterdam wedding.
December and I, after the wedding was over, were surprised with our own brand-new stone cottage. It was about a kilometer away from the Della cottage, but it was still on the beach which was definitely a good thing.
I'm sure you don't want to know how you were conceived, but you were born in April, making you born even before our first anniversary every occurred.
I was thrilled when I heard your mother was pregnant. She woke me up in the middle of the night and told me the good news.
I admit I was scared. I didn't know anything about fatherhood, let alone fatherhood in a foreign country. I told my parents about the pregnancy, but all they sent was their good wishes. No advice whatsoever.
Your mother gave birth to you earlier than I thought. It was a breezy autumn day in April, warm but not humid. The midwife and the pediatrician shooed me out of the house until the labor was over, so all I could do was pray.
My prayers were answered. It was exactly noon when I heard the cries of an infant child. I raced into the cottage where your mother was screaming and sweating and bleeding. The midwife handed me a little baby while Hanna pulled out another little baby.
"Two? Are you sure that they're both mine?" I squeaked.
Hanna nodded. "Yup. I haven't gone anywhere, have I?"
I looked at the little bundle of "oh joy" in my arms. I unwrapped the blanket and saw that it was indeed a boy. The baby started to cry and wrapped him back up. He stopped crying and looked at me with such love I started to cry.
"I'll call you Todd," I hugged him, or should I say, you. And I looked at your sister in Hanna's arms and asked, "Boy or girl?"
"Girl."
"Say, Todd, what should we name your sister?"
I looked over at your mother. She was asleep but healing. "I'll just wait until she wakes up."
So I rocked you and your sister asleep.
That's how I met your mother,
And the rest is history.