Amy and some Frog Hollow talk: Thinking over a heavy proposal

So, I’m riding up Frog Hollow recently with a fellow who came down to pick me up while my truck was being detailed.

And on that short trip of five minutes to my house, this guy asked if he could marry my daughter, Amy.

Now I know what you’re thinking: This guy is nuts. I was thinking the very same thing.

But I have to tell you, he has been hanging around the neighborhood for about 10 years now and is a transplant of sorts because he comes from one of those big cities, Cleveland to be exact.

"I can’t even spell his name yet, let alone give him permission to marry my daughter," I’m thinking.

So I ask him, "You sure you want to do that?"

When he first started courting my daughter, I was sure to tell him I was from Dargan. I think he said something like, "Where’s that?"

I guess he didn’t know much about libation and firearms, so one day I thought it wise on my part to teach him.

So, I brought one of my firearms qualification targets home from the ATF and taped it on Amy’s refrigerator door for him to know of my perfect shooting score of 250.

According to Amy, he was most impressed.

I think in all reality, he liked me a little afterwards, but now he was asking for my daughter’s hand in matrimony.

You know when someone asks a question like that, it takes some due consideration.

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Amy is a fine young lady who works hard, is intelligent, helps others, is quite witty and the pride of Sheila and yours truly. And she mows our grass in straight lines, which is important to me as a military-minded, disciplined fellow.

In just about all categories, Amy is practically a perfect daughter to her parents, and now some fellow from Cleveland wants to marry her.

What would you do?

I did the very same thing. I thought about it carefully, but I still didn’t know how to spell his name.

"What does he bring to the table of marriage," I asked myself quickly on that five-minute car ride home through Frog Hollow?

Oh, did I tell you that he has no job? That’s not going to work out so well with a Dargan Boy who’s made a living from the sweat from his brow!

But wait, he did retire after some 34 years of going to work, so that is a plus.

I’m not sure he’s ever cut wood or worked in a mountain garden, coming from a big city like Cleveland, or slopped the pigs and skinned a rabbit or squirrel, or filleted a catfish, although I don’t believe he has missed many meals.

And he does know something about deadlines, or completing work on time with a schedule, and to his credit he has traveled in some interesting circles and rubbed shoulders with a few celebrities.

Additionally, he is a very community-oriented lad and has been interested in the youth of Washington County for many years and that for sure is a plus.

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He is a bit famous too. Even though I can’t spell his name yet, he’s made it to a "Hall of Fame." Now to get into any hall of fame requires some effort and contributions in one’s field of expertise.

If he does marry my daughter, Amy, I can then go around telling folk she married a "Hall of Famer," and there’s nothing wrong with that one either.

And something else, he also mows grass in straight lines. And Amy has already introduced him to the snow blower. I’d be foolish not to recognize these skills.

He’s a socially minded fellow who likes following me around too, even to Benny’s Pub once a week for a brew and conversation about many things, including sports.

He seems to be a sports fanatic. He watches all kinds of games. He even invited me to play in his fantasy sports leagues, and I won one year.

I knew that target with the 250 score would pay dividends one day.

I suppose at the end of the day, this fellow deserves to be in the Washington County Sports Hall of Fame. He is one very fine sports writer.

And since I think his credentials of being a good lad extends far beyond that award, I hereby declare and announce that Bob Parasiliti (editor, a spell-check please) is given permission by Sheila and I to marry our daughter, Amy, on a date to be announced.

Welcome to the Dargan suburbs, kiddo!

And don’t throw away that target sign.

Just kiddin'. Smile.

Pete Waters is a Sharpsburg resident who writes for The Herald-Mail.

This article originally appeared on The Herald-Mail: Considering man's request to marry columnist's daughter