Immigrants and In-Laws

Back in October 1997, my older sister Cheryl went on a blind date. That blind date ended with plans for a second date; the second date ended with a marriage proposal. Cheryl—who was a college sophomore at the time—called home, ecstatic.

“I’m getting married!” she said gleefully.

“That’s great,” I responded, “But… um… who are you marrying?”

Some guy named Evan Smith had won my sister’s heart within the space of four days. My parents were a little panicky. (Okay, a lot panicky.) Since work wouldn’t allow them to fly down to Utah to meet their future in-law that week, they let me skip school to go and check him out.

I showed up guarded, skeptical. I didn’t care how quickly my sister knew, I would not be so easily convinced that all was well.

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