So we don’t exactly agree on how we met.

Frankie insists we met for the first time in January, 2015 at our friend Aaron’s cabin. She’s lying. Besides, our story starts way earlier than that…

In the early 20th century, around the area of Solomon, AZ, two siblings would become estranged due to circumstances not so atypical of the time, according to the keepers of family lore. Many years later, one eventual descendent of the siblings would be the disreputable Anders Scot Hudson, one of Ron Johnson’s WAGIC work-family, for nearly a decade.

The other sibling would go on to become a Lopez family patriarch, an ancestor of the beautiful and patient, though sadly mistaken about how we met, Frances Marie Vivian Lopez.

And long before ever discovering their shared family history (at the Pacifica Taco Bell, in front of an audience of astounded surfer dudes), Anders made futile attempts to set Frankie up with the very eligible son of his boss, Ron.

Frankie wasn’t interested.

Actually, let’s go back to before that. In 2012, after Brad graduated from LMU he was fortunate enough to be sponsored by the Renaissance Man himself, Father William Fulco, S.J., on an archaeological dig at Tel Megiddo, in Israel.

At the time, Frankie was a student at SFSU studying Anthropology. She was supposed to go on that dig too, but decided against it. By the way, Father Fulco and Frankie’s favorite Jesuit, the late Downtown Brown, S.J., were frequent breakfast companions. Funny how these things all work out.

But I digress. You’re here to learn about how we met. I won’t keep you waiting.

In late 2014, Brad was conscripted into Her Majesty’s service at the Great Dickens Christmas Fair, where Frankie was charming audiences as part of the Oliver Twist cast. Now, wise readers will note this is when Frankie actually met a clean-shaven Brad, who Frankie mistook for a 13-year-old (he was 24) and promptly forgot about him. In other words, Frankie wasn’t interested again. Thankfully, this was a trend soon to reverse.

Finally, in early 2015. On the tails of a happy Christmas season, and with the help of a group of good friends, we met at a cabin in the woods. By that time, Brad had grown a beard, and finally looked his age - or so says Frankie. Between that and a sign honorifically placed on his tent by friends that said “Bradley Anne’s School for Kids Who Can’t Read Good” - a name she still insists on calling him today - the rest, as they say, is history.

Correctly,

Brad
8/21/20