She loves to tell the story of meeting my father. It was a Thursday night. They were introduced at a reception at the Pakistani Embassy in Washington, D.C. He invited her to have a drink after the reception. She says she went home that night and announced to someone or maybe nobody that she had just met the man she was going to marry. They had an other date over the weekend. And on the following Monday he invited her to lunch at a French restaurant and asked her to marry him. Three dates in four days. They discussed a ring. They discussed the fact that her mother was not going to receive the news well. She didn’t. My grandmother chose to ignore the situation. They decided with my grandfather’s blessing to marry quietly. And then, just a few weeks before that was to happen, my grandmother sat down for breakfast one morning and asked my mother what sort of wedding she wanted. With just a few weeks to plan, options were limited. My mother wore an elegant knee length dress. They had a reception at home. In the end, my grandmother loved my father fiercely. It’s a good story.