They met in Detroit, Mich., in the spring of 1955.

I found it interesting that these two people from small towns in the deep South found love in the big city.

Dad had moved there to find work. He was 20 years old.

Mom had moved there with her family, who also went north for work. She was just 15 when they met.

After a summer courtship, the two were married in November, barely a month after my mom turned 16.

I know it couldn’t have been easy for them. But all the pictures I have ever seen revealed a couple very much in love.

In 1957, they welcomed me into the world. My brother, Dale, came along less than 2 years later.

Growing up, I remember Valentine’s Day only being a big deal at school with the exchange of cards during a classroom party.

I’m sure Mom and Dad exchanged cards, but no red roses that commercials lead us to believe your mate must receive in order for it to be a “Valentine’s Day she will remember.”

Nor were there diamonds.

Occasionally, there were the boxes of heart-shaped chocolates that I’m sure my brother and I benefitted from more than Mom.

That doesn’t mean there was no romance.

Our house was filled with romance.

I remember Dad kissing Mom in the kitchen, often to the point of embarrassing my brother and me.

I remember the pats on the bottom and the smiles of affection they exchanged no matter who was looking.

I remember the date nights when they would get dressed in their best and go dancing. There was a lot of dancing — they didn’t need a special place to go, our home suited them just fine.

While I am not naive enough to think there were no quarrels between them, rarely ever was there a cross word exchanged within earshot or eyesight of my brother and me.

As my Dad’s health declined because of cancer, I watched my mom at his side in the hospital and at home when we moved him into the den so he wouldn’t feel so isolated away from family and friends.

She rarely left his side, sleeping in a recliner. It was not out of duty that she cared for him. It was true love.

My mom was at the side of her soul mate when he died.

There were no flowers, no chocolates, no diamonds. Yet, I can’t think of a romance more lovely than what I witnessed between my parents.

Teri Thornton is lifestyle editor at the TimesDaily. Her column is published Sundays on a rotating basis.