1986 The Most Romantic Thing I Did

Two hours after leaving Mary’s hospital room on my mission,
I returned with a bottle of gin, a gift, in hand.

A co-worker asked what had been the most romantic thing I’d ever done for Mary. I didn’t have an answer.

So that evening I asked her, “What’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever done for you?”

“You?” She laughed. “I don’t know. The first thing that comes to mind is when you went to get me a sandwich when I was in the Busan Hospital.”

She was referring to her hospital stay in Korea the day after delivering Cory, our fourth and final child. Mary planned to stay three nights, bonding with her newborn baby as she had done with Chris in Portland, away from me and our other children. But she wasn’t enjoying her hospital stay. Few people spoke English, she was an oddity in this foreign culture, and she didn’t like the Korean hospital food.

Mary planned to stay three nights in the hospital but didn't feel comfortable

“Would you go to the Seaman’s Club and get me a sandwich?” she asked.

“I’m on it,” I said.

The Seaman’s Club, where a lot of Nike folks hung out after work hours, catered to American tastes and what she needed now was something familiar. It was early evening and several of my Nike friends were already there having a beer, or two, or more.

“Congrats, Bence!” someone said. People clapped, patted me on the back.

“Pull up a chair, Dad!” said someone else.

“Naw, I just came to get Mary a—.”

“Ah, come one, we’re buying you a beer. You’re a family of six now!”

“But I—”

“Bartender, bring a couple of beers for the man.”

They peppered me with questions about how Mary was doing, then talked the bartender into selling them an unopened bottle of gin, knowing that Mary liked her gin and tonic.

Two hours after leaving Mary’s hospital room on my mission, I returned with that bottle of gin, a gift, in hand.

“Where is the sandwich?” Mary asked.

“I forgot.”