The velvet box felt heavy in my hand, the crimson lining a stark contrast to the dull silver ring nestled within. I opened it slowly, my heart pounding with anticipation. He had been so secretive, so excited, that I’d imagined a dazzling diamond, a symbol of his love and commitment.
Instead, I stared at a simple silver band, intricately engraved with Celtic knots. It was undeniably beautiful, a piece of family history, no doubt. But where was the diamond? The sparkle? The symbol of a lifetime of promises?
“It’s… it’s beautiful,” I stammered, trying to mask the disappointment in my voice.
He beamed. “I know, right? It’s my grandmother’s ring. It has so much significance.”
He launched into a heartfelt speech about his grandmother, a woman I had never met, and the enduring legacy of this ring. He spoke of family history, of love passed down through generations. But all I could think about was the glaring absence of a diamond.
Had he even looked at it? Did he not see the way my eyes glazed over, the way my smile felt forced? Did he truly believe this heirloom, this symbol of his family’s past, could compensate for the lack of a present, tangible symbol of his love for me?
Later that evening, as I lay awake, the ring, cold and lifeless on my finger, felt like a heavy weight. I pictured the other women I knew, their hands adorned with sparkling diamonds, their faces radiant with joy. I imagined the envious glances, the whispered questions. “Where’s the diamond?” they would ask.
And then, the thought hit me: I deserved better. I deserved to feel cherished, to feel special. I deserved a ring that reflected the love he professed to have for me, a ring that made me feel like the most precious woman in the world.
A week. That’s all I would give him. One week to rectify this situation, to show me that he understood, that he valued my feelings. If he failed to do so, if he continued to dismiss my concerns, then this relationship was over.
The next morning, I woke up with a renewed sense of determination. I would not settle for less than I deserved. I would not allow him to diminish my worth.
The week that followed was a whirlwind of emotions. I tried to be understanding, to approach the subject with tact and diplomacy. I brought up the topic of engagement rings casually, mentioning articles I had read about modern trends, about the significance of diamonds in contemporary society.
He seemed oblivious. He talked about his grandmother, about family traditions, about the “sentimental value” of the ring. He even tried to convince me that diamonds were overrated, that true love was about more than material possessions.
But his words fell on deaf ears. My resolve hardened with each passing day. I knew what I wanted, and I wasn’t going to compromise.
Finally, on the seventh day, I sat him down for a serious conversation. “Look,” I said, my voice firm but gentle, “I appreciate the sentimental value of the ring, truly. But I also want to feel cherished, to feel like I’m truly valued. And honestly, I don’t feel that way.”
He looked at me, his face a mixture of surprise and hurt. “I don’t understand,” he said, his voice slightly defensive. “I gave you my grandmother’s ring. What more could you want?”
“I want to feel special,” I repeated, my voice unwavering. “I want to feel like you put as much thought into choosing my ring as you did into choosing me.”
He stared at me for a long moment, then looked down at his hands. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he finally admitted, his voice subdued.
“Then let me tell you,” I said, my voice steady. “I deserve a ring that reflects the depth of your love for me. A ring that makes me feel like the most beautiful, cherished woman in the world. If you can’t give me that, then maybe we’re not meant to be.”
The silence that followed was deafening. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and confusion. Finally, he nodded slowly. “I understand.”
And with that, the engagement was over. It wasn’t the ending I had envisioned, but it was the ending I deserved. I walked away, my head held high, knowing that I had made the right decision. I deserved to be loved, truly loved, for who I was. And I deserved a ring that reflected that love, a ring that sparkled as brightly as the future I envisioned for myself.
Ron Howard calls wife ‘good luck charm,’ shares secret to 49-year marriage
“Remember how we always said, ‘You can do it if you want, but you don’t have to?’ Well if you start this, you can’t quit’,” said Howard, recalling a conversation he had with his parents decades before. “You don’t have to do other parts on other shows, if you don’t want, but you’d have to keep doing this one.”
Explaining that he understood the message his parents were delivering, Howard adds, “I think it was pretty clear at that point that I was enjoying it, and I was good at it.”
Actually, he was great at it, and he was about to reach a level of stratospheric stardom.
Howard’s ‘Happy Days’
While starring in The Andy Griffith Show, Howard also appeared on the big screen in 1962’s The Music Man, a musical film that was a huge commercial success.
A natural talent, he then starred in 1973’s American Graffiti, which also starred Harrison Ford, Richard Dreyfuss and Cindy Williams, whom he would work alongside in the future.
It was in 1974 when he was cast as Richie Cunningham in a new series created by Garry Marshall called Happy Days, which appeared on TV screens in homes across the world from 1974 to 1984.
The TV show spawned a few popular spin-offs like Laverne & Shirley, starring Williams and Marshall’s sister Penny, and Mork & Mindy with Robin Williams as Mork, the favorite Orkan.
High school sweetheart
It was in 1970 – before he won a Golden Globe for his performance as the innocent teenager on Happy Days – that Howard met the high school sweetheart, Cheryl Alley, whom he would marry in 1975.
“I met her, and there was never anybody else,” Speaking with People, the director of the Da Vinci Code continued, “She’s unbelievably supportive and always has been. Our compatibility has endured through all kinds of experiences.”
After 50 years of shared experiences, Howard, who earned an Oscar for directing A Beautiful Mind, commemorated the 50th anniversary of his first date with Cheryl on Instagram.
“Nov 1 1970 Cheryl & I went on our 1st date,” he wrote alongside a photo of himself wearing socks with images of Cheryl’s face. “We went to see a re-release of Stanley Kramer’s It’s a Mad Mad Mad World and then got some pizza at now defunct Barnone’s in Toluca Lake. Quite a start, right?”
He also shared their plans that day, “We’ll be driving in the same ‘70 VW Bug I picked Cheryl up in 5 decades ago. It runs great. So do we.”
His ‘good luck charm’
Cheryl made several cameos in Howard’s projects and even played herself on the TV comedy series Arrested Development, produced and narrated by Howard.
Speaking with the Television Academy, Ron called Cheryl his “good luck charm,” and explained that is why she appears in every film he makes.
“At a certain point, I became very superstitious about making sure that she appears, that she’s at least identifiable in one frame,” he said. “They don’t have to be big cameos, but she’s gotta be in there.”
In addition to bringing her husband some luck, Cheryl is also a published author who holds a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a master’s degree in screenwriting.
The power couple are grandparents to six children and the parents of four, daughter Bryce, twins Paige and Jocelyn and son Reed.
Bryce – a recognizable actor – is known for roles in movies like Jurassic World and The Help, while Paige made her feature film debut in the 2009 movie Adventureland. Since she’s appeared in films The Employer and Collection.
Reed is a professional golfer and Paige’s twin sister Jocelyn is very private.
The secret to longevity
Nearing their 49th anniversary on June 7, the Emmy Award-winning producer shares that “communication” is the secret to their enduring love.
“People say, ‘How’d you do it?’ There’s no technique,” Howard tells People. “There’s no tactic, other than communication is really important. You have to learn to communicate and have difficult conversations in constructive ways. Beyond that, there’s an element of luck because people either grow together or they don’t and I don’t think you can force that.”
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