Years later, testing from future in-laws still a hoot

A couple thoughts crossed my mind for the first time as the other day I recalled several incidents during my initial “courtin’ days of the Bettterhalf. Was her farm family giving me a “welcome” or maybe a “get lost” to this city-slicker because you’re not good enough for my daughter?
Incident, or maybe experience number one, occurred the first time I was invited to a large Sunday dinner at the family farm following their church service. I left home, and arrived at her farm early. The family group including many relatives,  had not arrived yet and I made myself comfortable on a porch swing in the front yard.
Her uncle and cousins were the first to arrive . . . walked by me and went inside without saying a word. Soon another group arrived and was silent. I turned to find them all staring at me from the inside dining room windows. Upon the arrival of the Betterhalf and her parents I was then invited inside to the bunch of laughing relatives.
Incident Number two. It was the Betterhalf’s granddaddy and uncle’s turn a few months later to perform their “welcoming” routine to this nonsmoker and nonchewer.
 The two set me on the couch between them. That’s when Grandpa Earl reached down beside the couch; picked up coffee can; spit his wad of chewing tobacco juice in it and asked me to pass it over to Clyde. Clyde in turn spit and handed the can back to me to give to Earl. This was repeated numerous times before they both broke out laughing
My tales could go on, but there were a few other things this city slicker learned the hard way. Great humor was found by telling this city slicker to stand by an opened field gate and ordering me to direct hungry calves toward an adjacent feedlot as they exited from the harvested cornfield.
 I waved my arms; yelled; and dove; grabbing the fence post as the calves rushed on their own through that opened gate to the feedlot bunks across the road. When the dust cleared I observed my group of “roundup relatives” laughing as they approached.
Through all these and many more experiences, I now look back to realize what I overcame to become the “luckiest guy” in the world. That is: My stubbornness never waned and that farm girl didn’t give up. She IS my Betterhalf!
RL Furse  is publisher emeritus of the News-Register