I wrote this little poem for my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary in 1997. Somehow, our own fiftieth is coming up next Saturday. They’ve been gone a long while now. However, I still think it’s a sweet ditty that tells who they were and how they were together.
They were married fifty years ago, back when promises were kept,
When married wasn’t something you got,
But something you ate and drank and slept.
In the sixties, Mom wore a uniform. So did my dad I guess,
Of some new man-made fiber.
They called it Permanent Press.
Mom worked in my school cafeteria, so her uniform was white.
My dad, a maintenance man, wore darks,
Making sure my school had heat and light.
Now my folks were sort of gushy, you know, that cuddly kind,
Who were openly affectionate.
Which only their children seemed to mind.
One day Dad came by Mom’s kitchen in his Permanent Press pants and shirt.
He’d just stopped by to say hello, so
“Don’t mind the grease and dirt.”
After a brief exchange of pleasantries and probably something to eat,
He reached around and with both hands
He lovingly patted Mom’s seat.
Mom went back to work of course, at the oven, stove, or sink,
But when she heard the other cooks laugh
She didn’t know what to think.
As you’ve probably imagined, there were hand-prints on her dress.
My dad had left his permanent mark
On her uniform of Permanent Press.
Mom wore those marks forever, for those hand-prints would never come out.
They stayed despite Mom’s scrubbing
In the days before Biz and Shout.
That couple were and are my folks, together fifty years.
I guess some things are made to last
Even pats upon the rear.
After fifty years they wear the marks of Husband and Wife, of Dad and Mother.
The laugh lines, the tear tracks,
The Permanent Press of one another.
Lorie Smith Schaefer
1997
Lorie Smith Schaefer 
Congratulations on your milestone anniversary. Of course, the length is fantastic, but I’m sure the quality of those years makes it all the more impressive.
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