Buckeye Mike

Slusher, Slushie, Slushbob, Slushpup, and any other variety of that name you can come up with, I have been called. With a last name like Slusher, I have never been the victim of mistaken identity. When someone says Slusher at work, in Gahanna where I live, or almost anywhere I go in Central Ohio, everyone know who they are talking about. I have said many times that if this were Goshen, Ohio, you would have to clarify a little more than that. Because in Goshen, this last name is kind of legendary. My Father's name was John Michael Slusher. He married my mother just out of high school and I was the second child they had before he turned 21. Their marriage was short lived and he went off to the Air Force as my Mom traveled her path with us in Ohio. She is no stranger to the readers of this blog, as many of my posts are about her or inspired by her. But like my relationship with him while he was alive (he passed away in 1996), his appearances here have been scarce or in passing. And

I knew that moment was coming. From the months of preparation to the hectic pace of the last few days, I knew all the build up and anticipation was leading to one moment that would forever etch itself into my memory and change my life forever. I tried to imagine it, thought about how I would feel, and whether the moment would be a let down after the build up. It so was not. As I stood beside my Uncle Ronnie yesterday evening at 6:30, I was anxious for the music to start. Marry Me by train played through the DJ's speakers as the bridal party walked into the room. Each of the couple took the half moon shaped walk to the steps, then fell into line on either side of me as we waited for that moment to come. With a hundred people on their feet and Van Morrison's Someone Like you Echoing through the sanctuary, I saw my bride walk through the door, on the arm of her Uncle and her Cousin. They walked towards the crowd, then turned to cross the wood floor and finally turned again towar