““Don’t try too hard to find your person in life. You’ll meet them when you least expect it. Maybe even when you’re not ready for it.”
— Uncle Tony, 1986
Uncle Tony’s Advice
When I was fourteen, visiting my Uncle Tony in Southern California, we sat on a beach surrounded by sun, sand, and people who looked like they had life figured out.
I was doing what teenage boys do best. Probably making a fool of myself lusting over every beautiful woman who walked by.
At some point, I must have said something about wanting a girlfriend or wishing I had someone special. Uncle Tony didn’t laugh or tease me. Instead, he gave me a piece of advice that didn’t fully register back then but would turn out to be truer than I could have imagined.
“Don’t try too hard to find your person in life,” he told me.
“You’ll meet them when you least expect it. Maybe even when you’re not ready for it.”
At fourteen, I nodded like I understood, but really, I didn’t. I was too young, too eager, and too sure that I could somehow control everything about my future, even love.
I didn’t know it then, but those words would echo back to me several years later, like a bell ringing in the distance.
Spring 1990: The Last Thing I Was Looking For
Fast-forward to a cool spring night in 1990. I was hanging out with Dave and Dave in Dave N.’s basement, talking about summer plans and my upcoming move to the beach.
I’d already put in my notice at UPS, set a date to move out of the townhouse and head to Delaware to live with Sue, and lined up a job at Grotto’s Pizza.
All I was focused on was freedom, fun, and starting a new chapter, not love.
That night we were just three friends heading to a party like we had so many times before. The last thing on my mind was meeting my soulmate.
But that’s exactly what happened.
The Party
As usual, there was a group of us going out. That night it was supposed to be Dave, Dave, me, and some of the girls we hung out with: Beth, Carla, and Lynn. After waiting a while, the girls finally showed up and they had someone new with them.
We chatted in the driveway, figuring out the plan. Two cars: the girls in one, us in another. I’d drive my car. As soon as we pulled away, I asked Dave N. who the new girl was.
He smirked and said the line I’ll never forget:
“Her name’s Steph, but don’t worry about her, she’s wrapped up with another guy.”
I just grinned and nodded.
We got lost more than once on the way to the party, laughing the whole time, but eventually made it. The place was packed, music blaring, beer flowing, people everywhere.
And that’s when I really saw her.
Holy shit, she was gorgeous. Lee jeans, a long-sleeved white top with tiny flowers, brown curly hair just past her shoulders. I had to meet her.
There was just one problem: I absolutely sucked at talking to girls. So I hovered, hoping she’d notice me first. I even told Carla how cute Stephie was, praying she’d pass along the message. Eventually, I worked up the courage, walked over, and said hi. Or at least that’s how I remember it. Truth is, she probably came up to me.
She smiled. “Hi. What’s your name?”
And me, thinking I was smooth, said, “You don’t know who I am?”
She rolled her eyes and walked away.
Well shit. That didn’t work.
Fate Steps In
A while later, the party got out of control. Fights broke out, people yelling, total chaos.
The three of us, me, Dave, and Dave, saw our opportunity. We had no idea whose party it was, but in the confusion we grabbed the keg, threw it in the back of my car, and took off.
At least we’d have something for our own party.
We invited the girls to come back to my place and finish it off, but they never showed. I was crushed.
Oh for two.
The next morning, we heard that Stephie had been in a car accident while dropping off a friend after the party. She was okay, but that was all I needed, an excuse to see her.
I told Dave and Dave to hop in the car, we were going to check on her.
We pulled up in front of her house and knocked on the door. An older man answered. It was Stephie’s dad. He was surprisingly friendly, considering three teenage boys were standing on his porch.
I introduced us politely:
“Hi, sir, my name’s Joe. This is my friend Dave and my other friend Dave.”
He burst out laughing. It took him a minute to catch his breath before he said something about the show Newhart:
“You mean like, ‘My brother Darrell and my other brother Darrell’?”
We laughed along, but I was dying inside, hoping Stephie was home.
She wasn’t.
“She’s at work,” he said.
Well shit. Oh for three.
I can’t remember if I left my number with him or if we tracked down hers later, but eventually I got her on the phone to see how she was doing.
When she answered, my heart was pounding. We talked for a few minutes, she was fine, and when I hung up, I wanted to call her right back.
Dave and Dave intervened with what they claimed was expert advice:
“No way. You’ve gotta wait a few days so you don’t look desperate.”
I tried to listen. Sort of. Not really.
Prom Night
The next weekend was the high-school Junior Prom. Dave N. and Stephie were in the same grade, and he was going with his girlfriend. Before he left, I told him,
“If you see Stephie there, tell her to come by my house after.”
We were throwing another party that night.
And sure enough, she came.
I was ecstatic. We stayed up all night talking and finally really getting to know each other. No chaos, no loud music, just conversation. She was quiet and shy, but also so easy to talk with. I could tell she was enjoying spending time with me as much as I was with her.
The next morning, we piled into cars and drove to Kings Dominion, the amusement park. Dave and Dave rode together with their girlfriends; Stephie and I were alone in my car.
The whole day felt like a movie, hand-in-hand, laughing, riding roller coasters, talking about everything and nothing. It felt like we’d been together forever. When I dropped her off that night, I knew I was in trouble.
She was perfect.
Two problems, though: she had a boyfriend, and I was getting ready to move.
A few days later, she broke up with the boyfriend. Problem one solved! But I was still headed to the beach.
By then we were talking every day, getting to know each other better, and at least for me, falling fast.
The Connection
Stephie wasn’t just beautiful, she was different. The more we talked, the more I realized how special she was.
Her dad was in the Army, stationed at Fort Meade, and her family had deep roots in a small town in Kentucky. That alone gave me pause. I worried about how they might see me, or my family, or the world I came from.
She had a gay uncle, someone she loved deeply, but even within her family, the acceptance of him was mixed. Some of it was complicated, but some of it was absolutely beautiful. He would die from AIDS a few years after we met, and though I didn’t know it then, that loss would shape her heart in quiet, profound ways.
What struck me most, though, was how naturally she accepted me.
My family. My beliefs. My world.
It was never an issue. Never a conversation that turned awkward or defensive. Stephie has always seen people through her own open eyes. She has this amazing soul that leads with curiosity, not judgment, that looks for the best in everyone.
Any concern I might have had about her acceptance faded quickly, and looking back now, it doesn’t even resonate as ever having been an issue. She was, and still is, the kind of person who loves without a filter.
Delaware: Freedom vs. Longing
In early May 1990, I headed to the beach like I’d planned. I moved in with Sue, started at Grotto’s Pizza, and tried on a new life that looked great on paper: free rent, ocean air, late nights, new faces. After work we’d hit parties; I’d crash somewhere or make my way back to Sue’s. For a few hours at a time, it felt like the slate had been wiped clean.
But it wasn’t home.
Home was Dave and Dave. Home was familiar streets and the same dumb jokes we’d been telling for years. And whether I wanted to admit it or not, home was Stephie.
We talked on the phone every day, which created a brand-new problem. This was long-distance, the old-school kind that came with a bill you could feel in your chest when you opened it. Oof. I had no idea what I was racking up; I just knew I couldn’t not talk to her.
I tried to settle into beach life anyway. I worked, met people, learned the rhythm of the line at Grotto’s, and told myself I’d get used to it. On my days off, though, I’d point the car west, crash on Dave N.’s couch or another friend’s floor, and squeeze in as much time with Stephie as I could. Every trip back made it harder to leave.
Stephie Visits Delaware
Over Memorial Day weekend, Stephie came to Delaware with Dave N. and his girlfriend. They stayed over, and for two days it was like the best parts of both worlds finally overlapped. That weekend didn’t just make me happy; it made things clear.
By then I was gone. Not summer-crush gone. Not this-is-fun gone. I was gone gone.
A few days later, on my next day off, I did the most nineteen-year-old thing possible: I packed up, got in my car, and drove home. I didn’t put in notice. I didn’t clear it with Sue. I didn’t have a plan. I just left. No job, no place to live, just a head full of feelings and a heart that didn’t care about logistics.
Leaving Delaware
It was immature and irresponsible. It was also honest.
I wanted to be where Stephie was.
Stephie was perfect. She was kind, understanding, an amazing listener, and she didn’t seem to care about any of my baggage. She saw me for me and made me feel like I could be anything in this world.
So there I was, summer of 1990, with no job, no place to live, and no visible future. At first, it didn’t even matter. Stephie, Dave, and Dave were done with school and didn’t have any obligations for the summer. I fell right into the mix.
During the days Stephie wasn’t working, I was with her. When I wasn’t with her, I was with Dave, Dave, or our dear friend Timmy. Most nights I crashed at Dave N.’s house or Timmy’s. When I couldn’t, I slept in my car.
At first I didn’t care. I just looked forward to seeing Stephie. Eventually, though, reality caught up. I started picking up odd jobs like delivering pizzas and working as a cook at Chili’s, but it wasn’t enough to get my own place or even keep up with my car payments, which my mom had co-signed for.
Leaving Delaware the way I did left me in a predicament. I hadn’t spoken to my mom, Debi, or Sue since I bolted. At first, I told myself I’d call next week. But weeks turned into months, and the longer I waited, the harder it got. I knew Mom would be disappointed. She’d be mad about me leaving without a word, mad about the missed payments, and that terrified me. So I kept putting it off.
Swallowing My Pride
By the end of summer, I had to make a choice. I’d worn out my welcome at Dave N.’s and Timmy’s. I couldn’t keep sleeping in my car. I was broke, behind on my car loan, and out of excuses.
So I swallowed every ounce of pride I had and, tail between my legs, went to see my mom and Debi.
Her reaction surprised me, although in hindsight it shouldn’t have. She’d always been there for me, and this time was no different. Was she disappointed? Yes. Frustrated that she had to cover my car payments and hadn’t heard from me in months? Absolutely.
But when she opened the door and saw me, the first thing she did was hug me. Relief and love outweighed everything else.
She and Debi took me in.
Now, what I didn’t mention before was the reason they’d told me I could sublet the townhouse or move out on my own in the first place. It wasn’t because they thought, hey, you’re an adult now. It was because they’d moved into a small one-bedroom house. There wasn’t room for me. But there was an unfinished basement.
They put a mattress down there, and that became my new home.
And I loved it.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was safe. It was mine. And after the mess I’d made, I was nothing but grateful.
The Love That Raised Me
It took me years to understand that the love I was trying to build with Stephie was, in many ways, a reflection of the love that raised me.
My mom and Sue had shown me what devotion looked like. Love that was patient in the storm, forgiving in the silence, and strong enough to hold its ground when the world didn’t understand.
I didn’t realize it then, but I was chasing that same kind of love. Not the fairytale kind, but the kind that endures.
And somehow, I’d found it. It was imperfect, young, and full of rough edges, but it was real. It was ours. And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t running from love, I was running toward it.
I had the girl. I had a safe place to land. But I didn’t yet have a future. And I was determined not to lose her, or myself, again.
Next Time on Raised by Pride
Love had grounded me, but purpose was still missing. The summer of 1990 was over, and the question “what now?” echoed louder every day.
I didn’t know it yet, but the answer would come from a decision that would change everything: a uniform, a promise, and a future I couldn’t walk away from.
Author’s Note
If this chapter resonated with you, share it with someone who believes in second chances, or someone who once slept on a basement mattress and called it home.
If you’re new here, start from the beginning → [Raised by Pride / Introduction].
Thanks for reading, friends. See you next week for Chapter 15: A Future I Couldn’t Quit.
I’m glad mom was able to look past that awful pick up line 😂
You two have such a beautiful story! Warms my heart! 💕