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Fifty-four years ago, on this day we were married.  I was sixteen, he was eighteen. No one took any pictures, my daughter photo-shopped the picture above.  I wore a royal blue silk suit with a picture frame collar and a.perky little pillbox hat of the same color.  For our honeymoon, we drove to New Jersey in his uncle's Buick, got lost, had no idea where we were going.  We drove around on strange roads in the dark until finally, exhausted, we found a motel and spent our wedding night  there.  In the office a man appeared from behind a red curtain to check us in.   On the wall of the office there was a sign that read, "All the spaghetti you can eat and one meatball."  I cried a lot because it struck me that I could never go home to my old life. The next day we went to Clementon Park, got something to eat, waded around in the lake for a while and then headed back home to a little rented house a block down the street from my parents. A year later, on our first anniversary, my parents took us out for a lobster tail dinner.  There was a jukebox there and my father played Nat King Cole, "Too Young."  It was his way of finally giving us his blessing.  Once, many years later, when my husband was looking at pictures of me from back then, he said, "It's a wonder your father didn't shoot me."