Finally, we're getting married

Phuong and I, proven to be legally sane after an exhaustive interview and testing process by some psychologist, went to the courthouse in Bien Hoa last week where we were exhaustively interviewed  by yet another guy in black slacks and a white, button-down shirt. He asked if we can communicate with each other. He asked if we were happy. Phuong did all the talking, probably out of fear I would say something rude or stupid. Smart woman. And the results -- along with all the paperwork obtained through numerous trips to Ho Chi Minh City -- are in. We're getting married March 10. That turns out to be the day after my dad's birthday. My dad died three years ago, so he won't be coming to the wedding. Neither will my mom; she died almost nine years ago. I really wish my mom could have met Phuong. I know she would have loved her because Phuong is, well, she's so lovable ... and kind, and generous, and ... you get the idea. If I was smart, I'd marry this woman. Hey, wait. The psychologist said I was smart. Actually, he didn't say anything I could understand, but he gave me a paper that said I had a 107 IQ. Anyway, no one is invited to our wedding, and we're not having a party. We're unconventional ... Phuong became pregnant over five months ago, we've lived together here and there for more than 17 months and got a real house together a little more than a month ago, and now we're getting married. Maybe we'll start dating after the wedding. We're both so happy that it's difficult to put into words. God knows I didn't come to Vietnam to find a wife and have a baby. Quite the contrary. I wanted to teach, experience the culture, and move on. And after I met Phuong, I had several good job offers that I rejected. I didn't leave because I felt like the love of my life -- Phuong -- was here, in Bien Hoa of all places. Sometimes, you just know when something is meant to be. Turned out I made the right decision for a change.
I made another decision last week, although it's nothing like marriage. I returned to tennis at the urging of an 84-year-old man who's super nice to me and wants me to play doubles against him and his children and friends. I agreed and he thanked me by almost taking my face off with his nasty backhand slice while I loafed at the net.  Really. I just got my face out of the way, but the ball hit me in the arm. The other guys are accepting me as long as I'm with the older gentleman, and my game has improved since the layoff. Now, I'm not so much of a liability as a doubles partner. And my serve is still tops in the field.
I'm protesting Phuong's incredibly long hair by refusing to get my hair cut. But my hair, being curly (and gray, now), grows out, not down. Some days my hair is super curly, and Phuong says she likes it because it reminds her of noodles. As long as she keeps the fish sauce off of it, I'm OK with that.
My son Alec is coming  to visit us in Vietnam in April. I can't wait. I really miss him and my other three children -- Jessica, Caroline, Jack -- so much. They're the greatest kids in the world.