I Heart St. George (Part 2)
Shortly after my fight with Ken Broadhead, I was at a party in Provo. The most beautiful girl I had ever seen bounced up to me and, with a really pretty smile, said a bunch of stuff in a hurry. Though I had no idea what she was talking about, I did notice that after a few exchanges she was calling me “Sid.”
I said, “My name is Steve.”
She said, “I like Sid better.” And she kept calling me Sid. Now, I’m not sure if it was love at first sight or post-concussion syndrome, but I thought, if I had to, I could get used to Sid. It’s as good a name as any.
After she left, my friend asked, “What was that?!”
I said, “I have no idea, but I think I might be in love.”
Skipping most of the details, Sara and I dated that year. An added bonus was that she was from St. George. I was always eager to travel down with her – to get to know the family (though, not meaning to criticize them, they could have reached out a bit more, if they'd really wanted to get to know me, and spent some time with me on the golf course).
Sara and I happened to get married on the same weekend of the Washington County Fair. Her father thought it would be great if I fought at the fair. Her mother thought otherwise. I learned, those Stanley women are tough negotiators.
We were married in the St. George Temple, where Sara’s grandfather, Lloyd Pack, worked as a sealer. We had our wedding breakfast at Andelin’s Gable House – where Sara worked in high school. And where she briefly worked a few years after we graduated – while I figured out what, other than a lawyer, I was going to be. Again, I don’t mean to be critical, but it didn’t really stimulate the creative job-hunting juices, when she’d come home dressed in her Andelin’s wench/waitress get up, slap her tips on the dresser (in the basement of her parents’ home where we (Sara, me, and our baby) were living – in fact, the very room where she had grown up: full circle!), and ask – in a something less-than truly supportive voice – “Have you figured out what you want to be when you grow up?”
I was somewhere between astronaut and race car driver, when “we” decided lawyer would be good.
I got ahead of myself there. While we were at BYU, between getting married and passing the bar exam, working at one of the best law firms in the world, and – then – moving into her parents’ basement, Sara informed me that we could live anywhere in the world – except St. George, Utah – the one-stoplight town where she grew up. When I asked why, she gave some lame reason, like we’d end up living in her parents’ basement.
Like that would ever happen.
I said, “My name is Steve.”
She said, “I like Sid better.” And she kept calling me Sid. Now, I’m not sure if it was love at first sight or post-concussion syndrome, but I thought, if I had to, I could get used to Sid. It’s as good a name as any.
After she left, my friend asked, “What was that?!”
I said, “I have no idea, but I think I might be in love.”
Skipping most of the details, Sara and I dated that year. An added bonus was that she was from St. George. I was always eager to travel down with her – to get to know the family (though, not meaning to criticize them, they could have reached out a bit more, if they'd really wanted to get to know me, and spent some time with me on the golf course).
Sara and I happened to get married on the same weekend of the Washington County Fair. Her father thought it would be great if I fought at the fair. Her mother thought otherwise. I learned, those Stanley women are tough negotiators.
We were married in the St. George Temple, where Sara’s grandfather, Lloyd Pack, worked as a sealer. We had our wedding breakfast at Andelin’s Gable House – where Sara worked in high school. And where she briefly worked a few years after we graduated – while I figured out what, other than a lawyer, I was going to be. Again, I don’t mean to be critical, but it didn’t really stimulate the creative job-hunting juices, when she’d come home dressed in her Andelin’s wench/waitress get up, slap her tips on the dresser (in the basement of her parents’ home where we (Sara, me, and our baby) were living – in fact, the very room where she had grown up: full circle!), and ask – in a something less-than truly supportive voice – “Have you figured out what you want to be when you grow up?”
I was somewhere between astronaut and race car driver, when “we” decided lawyer would be good.
I got ahead of myself there. While we were at BYU, between getting married and passing the bar exam, working at one of the best law firms in the world, and – then – moving into her parents’ basement, Sara informed me that we could live anywhere in the world – except St. George, Utah – the one-stoplight town where she grew up. When I asked why, she gave some lame reason, like we’d end up living in her parents’ basement.
Like that would ever happen.
posted by steve u. at 11/17/2007
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3 Comments:
Stanley women negotiate?
Steve, was it about this time when you learned to mountain bike and decided to take on the loop with Josh and me?
My ears are still burning from the fall out.
Shayne,
That would be the time.
All Others,
I rode mountain bikes on the Loop w/ my bro-in-law. First time, I was fine. Second time, I crashed on the Fingers of Death (Okay, actually the Top Knuckle of Death), and had to get a big gash on my left elbow stitched. He talked me into "getting back on the horse" for a third time. Shayne went with us. I crashed (not more than 100 feet from the vehicle), and had to get a big gash on my right elbow stiched.
Shayne has baby ears.
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