In 1939, in a small town in Oklahoma, a young couple had been married a few short and disappointing months.

He never dreamed there were so many ways to ruin fried chicken. She couldn't imagine why she ever thought his jokes were funny. Neither one said aloud what they were both thinking -- the marriage was a big mistake.

One hot afternoon, they got into a terrible argument about whether they could afford to paint the living room.

Tempers flared, voices were raised, and somehow one of the wedding gift plates crashed to the floor. She burst into tears, called him heartless and a cheapskate. He shouted that he'd rather be a cheapskate than a nag, then grabbed the car keys on his way out. His parting words, punctuated by the slam of the screen door, were,

"That's it! I'm leaving you!"

But before he could coax their rickety car into gear, the passenger door flew open and his bride landed on the seat beside him. She stared straight ahead, her face tear-streaked but determined.

"And just where do you think you're going?" he asked in amazement.

She hesitated only a moment before replying, just long enough to be sure of the answer that would decide the direction of their lives for the next forty-three years.

"If you're leaving me," my mother said, "I'm going with you."