I have a quick version: I saw "him", heard a voice in my head say "This is the man you will marry." And five years later we did.

But there is so much more.

George is black. I am white. We met the summer of 1970. He asked me to marry him the next year. If it had been up to us, we would have been married the next day. But to be married as Baha'is, the consent of all living parents is required.* It doesn't matter your age. It is about unity which is the primary principle of the Baha'i Faith.

Ironically this was what had almost kept me from becoming a Baha'i. I thought it was weird.

George's parents, while not thrilled, said they wouldn't let their own prejudices interfere.

I believed my parents would be fine with this. They were not typical white parents of their era. They moved to the only integrated neighborhood in our smallish city so we would be able to combat racial stereotypes through life experience. My father became the boy scout leader because no one else wanted to lead a potentially integrated troop. He let the black parents know their sons were welcome. My parents supported my civil rights activities in high school and black friends felt safe in our home. Ours was the only white home their parents would let them visit.  

At around 16 I was arguing with a group of white boys about race. I was holding my own, refuting every bigoted point when they threw out THE QUESTION. "So, If they are just as good as we are, would you ever marry one?" This was not the first time I had heard the question. The answer was usually a deflated "No, but that doesn't mean..." But this time I thought about it. If everything I knew from my experience said that we are all human, the only reason not to marry would be based on fear and prejudice. That night I told my mother I would not limit my options of a husband to white men and asked what would happen if I brought home someone of a different race. She said if that was my choice, they would accept it. I believed her.

When I told my parents my engagement news their reaction stunned me. My mother cried then screamed. "I know we told you to love everyone, BUT NOT THAT WAY!" My father said "If I knew this was going to happen they would have been called "nigger" from day one."

I was hurt, angry and devastated. For the next five years my relationship with my parents was strained and fragile. They had George investigated by a private detective and found that he was just as he presented himself: an outstanding young man, highly thought of by professors and employers. They talked to a doctor who suggested they have me committed to a mental hospital. Their refusal gave me a glimmer of hope. My father had "the talk" with George about how society wasn't ready for us. It was reminiscent of the talk Spencer Tracey had with Sidney Poitier in 'Guess Who's Coming to Dinner".

Eventually my anger subsided. I understood they were afraid for me. It was hard to give consent to a marriage they believed was condemned by society. My father said "I know what people think of white women who are with black men. They call them sluts. I hate that someone thinks of you that way." There was a deeply sad look in his eyes.

After five years of limbo, we needed a resolution. The wait was becoming to0 difficult and it was wearing on us.

I went home to ask for the last time. I was fully prepared for a "no" and had made plans to move to another state to start over. When I finally began to ask I couldn't look at them. I fixed my eyes on the flower patterned carpet and tried to steady my voice and hold back tears. I let them know it was the last time I would ask and would love them regardless of the answer. When I looked up they smiled.

George and I were married the next month.

Four months later, Mom said all negative feelings about my marriage had disappeared. Poof! No reservations. No concerns. She was happy with it. Happy for us. From the mother who was a natural born pessimist and the "Queen of Worrydom", this was remarable.

That was 33 years ago. I can count on one hand the number of real "fights" George and I have had. We laugh a lot. We share the same values and have enough differences to make it interesting. There have been a few "incidents", but nothing we couldn't handle. We have great children, and now wonderful grandchildren. In our immediate families we are the only ones still married to our first spouse.

I have come to love "parental consent". We had our parents' love and support. So many other inter-racial couples we knew did not. When you are young and in love you think it doesn't matter. Without them in our lives, there would have been a break in my heart. And that is a difficult wound to heal.

So our love story became a family love story. George and I loved each other. Our parents had the courage to embrace our love. Their courage was beyond what I understood at the time. Now it seems nothing less than a miracle.

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*There can be an exemption from parental consent if they were abusive or mentally ill.