My wife, Donna Joy Hyland, and I started dating when we were 17, in the fall of 1959, and, right away, I was crazy about her. She liked me, too. It wasn’t long before she invited me home for Sunday dinner with her family — her father and mother, Jack and Nell; her younger sister, Karen; and her little brother, Eddie.
I accepted, of course. But I wasn’t looking forward to being on guard for an entire meal: Sit up straight; don’t spill the tea; don’t eat too much or too little; keep your elbows off the table and your left hand in your lap; make polite conversation. I think you know the drill, most of you.
So there I was, concentrating, when something hit me on the side of my face and fell onto my plate. It was string bean. Jack Hyland, who was sitting on my left at the head of the table, had flipped a string bean at me with a spoon.
After that, believe me, I relaxed. The pressure was off.
NOTE: When I first met Donna’s mother, Nell Kiser Hyland, I remember thinking: She’s a good looking woman but she is so old.
Nell was 37.
NOTE: Here’s another story I posted in January 2017 that was, as the headline said, “Vintage Jack Hyland.”
Coming Monday: Headed Home On Leave