I meet & marry my husband

I met my husband when I was 18. I was a university sophomore in a Spanish class that was mostly girls. He ended up living on the same block I did. He sat next to me in class and was my Sunday School teacher. I never could resist him, although it took three years and some growing up on my part before I finally said yes. We were married in the big city near my family, and for our honeymoon made the long drive to the rural dairy farm near his family.

My family is warm, harmonious, helpful, communicative, musical and artistic. My husband's family of five daughters and two sons is warm, loud, mocking, determined, and some of them hold mighty grudges. It was not only culture shock for me, it was the type of shock that made me determined, on my part, to establish our own little family's independence even though we lived close to his parents and eventually to the brother and sister that never really grew up.

The four sisters-in-law I loved best knew better than to hang around, so they married and moved far away. I've never forgiven them. Although what has happened to change the family dynamics in the past few years could never have happened without them.

We lived in an abandoned farm house several miles from the dairy. I had no idea how isolated and poverty stricken we really were; I was in love and that carried us through the first few years. My father in law regarded me as something special because I 1) came from a well-off family; 2) My own excellent father was well respected in the church and community; and 3) I had a bachelor's degree. Plus, I constantly rewarded his solicitations of attention with the unthinking admiration he craved.

This protected me for quite awhile.