Last summer we were invited to attend the 50th wedding anniversary of some dear friends in Indiana. They had eight children, and we knew most of them, and some we had grown up with.
We always loved to visit the old home place on the farm, it was always a beehive of activity with the eight children, and as they got married and had childen it got to be quite a group.
The party was held in the church basement of the Methodist Church and was quite large, it had to be with all the people showing up.
Before dinner we talked about old memories we had of the family, and then sat down to a delicious home cooked meal, done by the Ladies Aide Society of the church.
After dinner, each child got up and told stores of their experience with the family, some friends spoke, a message by the Minister, and then, Paul, the Dad and now grandfather and great grandfather got up to say some words
He thanked everyone for coming and making it such a special day for he and Martha, and spoke a bit about their fifty years of marriage.
Then he took on a somber expression, looked around the room, and quietly spoke.
"There is something we feel that we should tell all of you, after all these years. In the hustle and bustle of getting the farm going, harvesting and feeding the livestock, and then of taking care of all the family, well, Mother and I just never had time to get married."
There was a hushed silence in the room, deathly quiet.
Finally, a little voice was heard from the back of the room.
"Well, why don't one of you bastards say something."