Connecticut Commentary: Red Notes from a Blue State

M y uncle Charlie was more or less adopted by my father and mother when he was 10 years old, and he came to live in my father’s house. My father had been asking my mother several times to marry him. Each time she had put off answering him. One day, he brought along a calendar with him. “Rose,” he said, “I want you to pick a day on this calendar when we can be married, and I will come again next week. If you have not marked off a day, I will not ask you again.”