My parents�what can I say about them? No words could ever truly capture the kind of relationship they had. I don�t even want to try and explain any of it. Their love for each other was only matched by their fierce competitiveness. A strange game to see who could insult the other the most, the worst.
But they did love each other beyond question. That is the one thing I can be confident about. I�ve always been close to both my parents, and I�d like to think that I know them extremely well. I did live with them for twenty years.
My mother loved telling the story of the first time she ever saw my father. �It was love at first sight,� she used to tell me, a soft smile on her face. She had been only eighteen, and he was only a year older at nineteen.
�It was my first summer as a receptionist at Titan Towers,� she would continue, �and he came in with his father. They came to speak with my Dad.�
By the time I was sixteen I was sick and tired of that story. Now I would do absolutely anything to hear it just one more time�
�I saw him, and I knew instantly that he was the man for me,� she would say. �I knew that he was the man I would live the rest of my life with. He didn�t know who I was, of course. Not yet. We only had time to say hello to each other before his father took him upstairs for their meeting. But when they came back down, he asked for my phone number.�
When I was younger I used to eagerly ask, �Did you give it to him? Did he call you?�
And she would get this silly grin on her face when she answered me. �I gave it to him, and he did call me. We met for lunch the next day. That was the last I saw of him for the next few years.�
It was then that their story grew strangely sad. My father had moved and lived in so many different parts of the country that he never settled down long enough to establish any kind of permanent address and/or number for my mother to reach him.
�She had been gorgeous, I remember,� my father would add his part. �But I was moving around so much, meeting so many people that she slowly drifted from my mind. Besides, I was also doing a lot of training and a lot of little independent shows.� He would then pause for a minute. �I never forgot her though. It was another three years before I would see her again.�
I knew the story of their reunion off by heart by the time I started high school. My mother had accompanied her father � my grandfather � on a scouting trip, and it just so happened that their last stop had been at the offices of the promotion my father had been with. Neither of them recognised the other for a moment, but it didn�t take long to dawn on them. Mom, remember Dad. Dad, remember Mom.
But my mother had a boyfriend, and my father had his career (and his WWF contract). There had been no time for romance, for the sparks and fireworks. That came later.
�It started after I got married,� my mother would sigh. �I loved Hunter, I did. But for some reason that nineteen-year-old young man I remember falling in love with just a look wouldn�t leave me alone.�
�And despite knowing who her father really was, I still felt the same about her,� my father followed on. �She didn�t know it at the time, but I was in love with her. Of course I couldn�t let her know that. She was married, and she was��
�I was a bitch,� my mother would finish for him, though she used less coarse language when I was younger.
�We continued with our separate lives, or as separate as you could get considering we saw each other nearly every day. I almost forgot all about that eighteen-year-old girl who scribbled her home number on the back of her father�s business card,� my father would continue. �On TV we acted as if we barely knew each other, but backstage things were a little different. The little remarks and taunts and insults started.�
At this time they would look at each other for a second or two, and in that brief moment it would always seem like a complicated and meaningful conversation had taken place. It was like one of those idealised romances � destiny, fate, soulmates, lovers in previous lives.
�It then spilled onto TV,� my mother would take over. �And the little remarks and taunts and insults became not so little. But somehow I knew he never really meant them. Just like I never really meant what I said about him. That continued for a couple more years, until Hunter got injured. Things weren�t going so well for Hunter and I then, and the injury just made things worse. With him away for eight months��
My mother would always trail off, never finishing that sentence. It was as if she was feeling guilty for having cheated on Hunter, which she never did.
�Nothing happened, other than we became close friends,� my father would assure her. �But your mother still felt guilty for it. You see, Hunter and I, we were never on the same proverbial page. He disliked me because I was in love with his wife, and I disliked him because I was in love with his wife.� He would then grin. �Actually he disliked me because I think he suspected his wife was in love with me.�
�Mom, you and Hunter never married for love though, did you?� I would ask when I got a little older, and the concept of �love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage� was shattered. It wasn�t that I was accusing her, it had been a truly curious question.
�No, we never did,� my mother would answer regretfully. �As much as I cared about Hunter, I never truly loved him. That marriage was wrong from the very beginning, and I know now that I hurt a lot of people because of it, including myself.�
�But that mistake was soon set right,� my father would assure her some more. �When Hunter returned after his injury he was still the same man, but what he didn�t realise was that his wife � your mother � had changed. She filed for a divorce, and as expected, Hunter was furious. As it still is, McMahon was quite a powerful name back then. More than anything, I believe Hunter was angry over the idea of losing his connection to the McMahon name.�
�And that was when things came out into the open,� my mother would say with a smile. �Hunter wasn�t happy with me, and every opportunity he could find he tried to�get back at me. And every single time, your father came out to defend me. I think he loved playing my saviour.�
�You and Daddy finally got together, right? And that was how I was born?� I would ask, eagerly awaiting their answer. Of course, as I grew older, the question became more like a comment, and my faith in �love and marriage, horse and carriage� had been restored. They always replied in the same way:
�And that was how you, our beautiful queen, our greatest achievement, came to be.�
The last time I had heard that story was exactly a year ago today. It had been my nineteenth birthday, the same age my father first fell in love with my mother. My parents had driven up to my college to celebrate with me, and as tradition dictated, they ended the day with the story of how I came to exist.
Today is my twentieth birthday, and I am once again spending it with my parents. My totally insane but lovable, frustrating but endearing, incommodious but supportive, infuriating but dedicated parents. The two people I love most in the world.
But today is different, and it�s my turn to tell them their story. I finish it with a sad smile and before I leave I gently trace their names on the matching stones.
Dwayne Johnson. Stephanie Johnson.