And then I met a guy named Bruce.
One summer, Mother, Daddy and Aunt Bee watched the kids so I could go to an intensive course on economics. At the end of the row in front of me, I spotted Bruce -- a young professor from Massachusetts who specialized in legal history of the American Revolution. A lot of people might think that two young law professors would be drawn together because they wanted to talk about law all the time. Nope: I fell in love with Bruce because he had great legs. Really. He was gorgeous.
Bruce and I are very different people. I'm a hard-charging, go-to-the-mat-for-whatever-you-believe kind of person. Bruce is more of a quiet, scholarly, camping-out-in-the-archives-poring-over-an-old-legal-manuscript kind.
Years later, over a great deal of beer, Bruce confessed that I wasn't just pretty bad at tennis, I was terrible. I was his Worst Student Ever. I hit balls everywhere: over fences, over hedges, over buildings. Once I had a weapon in my hand, I gave it everything I had.
Bruce has about a million good qualities, but I want to mention one: Throughout my career, and all the unexpected twists and turns, Bruce has been my biggest supporter. He has never once discouraged me from taking on a fight. Whenever I've been angry about the damage the big banks and powerful interests were doing to families all across the country, Bruce has always encouragingly asked: "So what are you going to do about it?" He's always believed that if I wanted people to listen to my ideas, I might as well shout from the highest mountain I could find.
Without Bruce, I never would've undertaken most of the adventures in my life. This anniversary, I'll celebrate living in America where everyone can marry their own Bruce -- their best friend, biggest supporter, and love of their life.
Thanks for reading this mushy email. And happy anniversary, Sweetie! I love you.