I think I should explain to you why I call you Pop Tart. In our family, pop tarts are very special, but don’t ever eat one because they are very high in sugar and have very little nutritional value. The story of the pop tart is the story of how I met your mother.
In late August 1995, I was a member of the local chapter of the Jaycees. They were having a conference in Roanoke. I had just broken up with a girl the month before so I wasn’t looking to get into a relationship. The Jaycees were a fun group of people so I thought this would be a good way to spend the weekend.
That Friday, I got in my car and drove the four hours to the conference which was being held in a large outdoor area with pavilions. Everyone at the conference was paired up with two other people in the hotel room but I was lucky because I was only sharing the room with one other guy who’s name was Dave.
That night, there was a cookout to welcome everyone. I was wondering around the lawn when I met your Aunt Alex (Troy’s mom) for the first time. We chatted for about 15 minutes when two of Aunt Alex’s friends walked up and she introduced me to a woman named Kim and another woman who would later turn out to be your mother. The three of them were sharing a hotel room together and had driven down with my roommate Dave.
I remember your mother was wearing a pink polo shirt and beige shorts and her eyes sparkled in the moonlight. She had the biggest, friendliest smile I had ever seen. Your mother and I spent the rest of that evening talking. The next morning, I found your mother and we ended up sitting together at all the meetings. That night, the Jaycees were having a dinner at a restaurant but your mom and her roommates didn’t have a car because they had gotten a ride with Dave. So, I drove Aunt Alex, Kim, and your mom to the dinner. Your mother and I sat together at dinner and couldn’t stop talking to each other. We had a lot in common and enough things different that it made getting to know her very interesting.
I knew from the moment I met your mother that I liked her, but I didn’t know how she felt about me. Later that night, the four of us were driving back from the long evening, and I mentioned that I was hungry and wanted to stop to grab something to eat.
Your mother looked at me and said, “Oh, if you don’t want to stop, I have a pop tart back at the hotel.”
I didn’t stop. The four of us went back to the hotel room where your mother and I shared her last pop tart. When she gave me that pop tart, I knew she liked me too because let’s face it son, you don’t give your last pop tart to just anybody. The next day it was time to pack up and go home so your mother gave me her phone number.
A couple of days later I called her for a first date and she ended up standing me up. But that’s a story for another time.
I love you Pop Tart!
