As Seen in the June 2008 Bella Magazine

I met my husband, Dave, on a plane. I was sitting in his seat but instead of telling me to beat it, he said, “Are you sitting there?” That suave pick-up-line has lived in infamy. Over time he said, “You’re in my seat, you know.” I told him that was impossible since I don’t make mistakes. Famous last words. Comparing our boarding passes showed that he was actually correct. I had indeed made a mistake…my first. I still maintain that the seat numbers were askew and there was nothing I could have done. (Blurred vision due to free margarita bar the night before perhaps contributed to this first error.)

A week later, Dave drove from his home in Annapolis, Maryland to my shabby rental in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to take me out to lunch. From this I concluded that he was very hungry for a cheese steak or he actually liked me. Later that same day he asked me The Question: “How many children would you like to have?”

Note, it was not “Do you want to have kids?” but “How many?“ I figured it out. He was looking for a breeder. A staunch feminist, I still went out with him again. What the heck, he was cute...and he drove 120 miles to see me. We met at Thanksgiving, got engaged that St. Patrick’s Day, and married just after Labor Day. His biological clock was ticking and we didn’t have any time to waste.

Dave was one of those guys who always knew he wanted to have kids. It’s simply took him a few year to find the perfect person to have them with. He waited 36 years to meet me. (The year he enlisted in the Air Force, I enlisted in 4th grade.) Due to advanced paternal age, we started our family as soon as was decent.

A natural father, Dave has always been a master of rough-housing, funny voices and “sure, you can stay up later.” Not a big one for rules, he’s long on fun. We had our three sons in our first two years of marriage. Big brother Alex was joined by twins Danny and Trevor and that got the party started. By then Dave and I really knew each other…for better or for worse.

I was a severely Type A mom who alphabetized my spices, kept a freezer inventory, and labeled all the toy bins. Race cars, Duplos and plastic dinosaurs each had their own bin. My kids could not open a toy bin without my permission. I refused to allow co-mingling of toys. Back then, I didn’t realize that Dave was one of the boys…and that he had every ability to open the bins.

The first time I left him alone with the 3 boys, I came home to a huge mountain of toys. Dave had opened ALL the bins! And dumped them out in the middle of the room! When I started crying, he said, “We’ll pick them up.” He went into the garage, got a snow shovel, and proceeded to scoop the co-mingled toys back into the bins.

I wondered if perhaps we should have dated a wee bit longer before starting a family together.

I am a planner. Dave is spontaneous. I am an organizer. Dave is relaxed. I am a driver. Dave is a napper.

I thank God for Dave. If it weren’t for Dave…our kids wouldn’t have had any fun at all!

Now that we have a houseful of teens, they thank God for their dad, too. If it were up to me, I’d still be choosing their clothes, brushing their teeth and reading them bedtime stories. Dad is the one who takes them white water rafting and skiing on Black Diamond slopes. Dad lets them stay up until all hours watching TV. He snuck the first game system into the house and got them cell phones when they turned 12. In short, he’s the cool one.

But he’s not just fun and games. No, Dad teaches them to finish what they’ve started. He’s modeled devotion to our family and faith in God. Most of all, Dad helps them with math homework.

Where would we be without Dad? So Happy Father’s Day, you crazy dude. I’m thankful to U.S. Air for bringing us together. I appreciate your humor and the fact that you’ve helped me to loosen up. I know the kids appreciate it, too. To celebrate your big day, go ahead and take a nice nap. We’ll wake you up when it’s time to grill.


Martie and Dave Byrd had 5 kids in 6 years. Now that the kids are all teens, they wonder what on earth they were thinking! Martie is a freelance writer and speaker who lives in Roanoke. To contact her, visit martiebyrd.com.