WEDDING DAY

   I didn’t cry at my daughter Rachel’s wedding.

   Everyone thought I would.  I thought I would.

   But I didn’t.  

   

   It was one of the happiest days of my life and not just because Rachel married Matt (the jury is still out on that one).  I was happy because everyone I looked at and talked to was happy.

A few impressions from the day:

Most brides look beautiful and Rachel was certainly no exception.  Her hair, gown and makeup enhanced all of her natural beauty.  What makes Ray different is her inner beauty.  Some people have a certain something inside them that is difficult to describe, but beautiful and easy to recognize.  My daughter has that.  She makes people feel like old friends, even if they met only a few minutes ago ( a trait she picked up from both of her grandmas, two women that could walk into a room of strangers and walk out with new friends).  She actually listens to people and has a sincerity that is genuine and never forced (she picked that up from her Mom, another genuine person).  Anybody can buy an expensive gown and spend a small fortune on their outer selves.  No amount of money can make you a natural, a person people gravitate to, real in every sense of the word.  My Rachel is that.

Matt looked pretty good.  Guys don’t have inner beauty, or none that I can detect anyway.

I looked fucking great.  I was fit as a fiddle from compulsive exercise and watching what I eat.  I didn’t go cheap on my new suit, had it tailored nicely, and spiffed it up with some urban accessories purchased at K+G.  When I see my multi peaked pocket square in the wedding photos, I get a chill.  My head had a nice shine. I put a little concealer on my eye bags and red nose (if broads can put on a little make-up, why can’t I?).  My ear and nose hairs were trimmed to a T.   You don’t often hear me say this, but I looked good (or is it fucking great?).

Leading up to the wedding I had predicted that a huge pimple was going to blossom on my face, though I could not decide on which side of my nose it would live.   I am old and should not have to worry about such things.  But I do...for good reason.  About two days before the big event, I felt a tingling on the right side of my snoot.  Sure enough, a red bump.  I could detect action beneath the surface as well, a sure sign that a real goose egg is on the way.   The morning of the wedding, I got up early and checked the mirror.  Major Zit!  As I checked out the red devil, I pushed up on the center of my nose, as if I was going to imitate a pig.  That relatively small pressure exploded my zit, the white prize hitting the mirror.  The pimple had subsided, no blood or scab remained.  It was a Wedding Day Miracle!

Two things made me nervous about the wedding.  I have to go back in time to explain the first.  When my nephew Terry got married, he asked me to be his best man.  I was happy to accept and started thinking about the bachelor party almost immediately.  What I failed to think about was the speech I would be asked to give at the reception.  The one in front of the 200 or so people...all staring at me...at the fancy Detroit Athletic Club.  I became obsessed.  I thought about it and rehearsed it for at least six months leading up to Terry’s wedding.  While swimming laps, while driving my car, while listening to my wife tell me about her day at work, pretty much all the time.  Anyway, I killed.  Because of that, people think that I can readily talk in front of big groups.  That is why Andrea nominated me to give a welcoming speech at Ray and Matt’s wedding.  I alternated between despair and rage leading up to that big day.  I blew a head gasket in front of anybody who would listen.  I also worked on the two minute talk forever.  My goal was to be quick, get a laugh and not cry.  Strangely, when it came my time to get in front of friends and family and open my mouth, I was not nervous at all.  After my opening salvo drew a laugh, I felt even better.  As I told Ray when it was over, it may not have been the best speech I could deliver, but it was the best I could do without sobbing.

The second aspect of the day that got me nervous was dancing and my inability to do so without looking like an utter asshole.  When Andrea and I learned of the wedding, I contemplated taking dance lessons.  I soon realized the folly of that and decided to ask my son Max to show me a few steps in the comfort of my own living room.  Unable to master even the simplest line dance routines and hearing the derisive laughter of loved ones, I ditched that as well.  Finally, I decided that hanging at the bar and watching others dance was my best plan of inaction (it’s the exact same plan I used while trolling the bars as a young man).  It worked perfectly (at the wedding, not when I was single).  I danced a slow song with my wife (“You’ve go tot start moving your feet”).  I danced the father-daughter dance with Ray and we talked the entire time (Ray did not tell me to get my feet moving).  It was one of my favorite parts of the evening, and the only time I felt like crying.

I loved watching others dance.   The heat kicked up a notch when impromptu circles formed and people took turns strutting their moves.  I believe I saw my little brother and best friend Rob engaged in a dance off, a contest certainly too close to call.  My sisters Chris and Nancy appeared to be feeling no pain as they traipsed around the floor.  When my niece Erin joined the group, arms gesticulating wildly above her head, she was overheard saying, “I can’t dance and I don’t care.”   I love that kind of spirit ( I just can’t drink enough to reach that level of abandonment).

Two of my dearest friends, Rob and Stan, attended.  I had such a good time drinking, talking and drinking with them that it made me wonder why I see them so infrequently. These are two good guys, battle tested friends that I will count as lifelong buddies.  To have them be a part of this huge day meant a lot to me.  I feel that I spent a lot of time hanging with these two turds, which brings me to my next point...

The night flies by and at the end of the party, you realize that you did not get a chance to talk with everyone for as long as you would have liked.  I know I will miss a few folks, but I am specifically thinking about Kathy and Tom, Fran and Mike, Debbie and Peter, Kathy and Joe, Erica, Leslie and Phil, Lori and Dale.  These are all quality people and folks you enjoy spending time with.  If I had a do-over, I would try and get around a bit more, have a drink with each of these people and see if I could get to the point where we joined the impromptu dance circle (It’s a goal).

When the evening came to a close, I got the bright idea to invite everyone over to my house to continue the party.  You see, there had not been enough drinking and carousing, it needed to go on a bit longer.  About thirty people came back to our house and (of course) the garage.  Champagne, wine and beer began flowing.  Music blared.  The White Rhino party bus parked awkwardly in the driveway.  I saw crying, laughing, hugging and other forms of inebriated behavior.  I was challenged by bridesmaid Kelly to see who had the bigger biceps (I did of course, but Kelly was no slouch).  I later found that Rachel did not enjoy this after party.  Apparently, being the sober bride and hanging with inebriated people for eight hours will do that to you. 

At this point, a few words about my brother Tony and his wife Beth.  Leading up to the wedding, when I confided in Tony that I was nervous about the speech/dancing/crying, he stated that “I’ve got your back.”  He did, always has.  This guy is loyal.  His capacity for care, even when watered down with drink, is huge.  When you combine that with he and Beth’s love of a good party, you will not be surprised to know that they were amongst the first to arrive at the ceremony and the last (along with Stan) to leave the after glow.  These two love a good time, and bring a lot to the party.  If a job existed that involved being invited to get-togethers to ramp up a good time, Tony and Beth would be at the top of their profession.

In closing, I cannot remember a better time.  To share it with family, close friends and new friends will stay with me forever.  I thought a lot about my mother in law Betty and wife’s cousin Doreen leading up to the big day.  They passed away too early.  Both of these great ladies loved to laugh and have a good time.  They would have surely added a lot to the night.  Those in attendance brought a lot of love to my world.  I understand that a wedding does not solve family problems or cure physical ills.  But it does make you feel good and sometimes feeling good is good enough.

Cheers! Jim

PS  The next day, my son Jack had a tennis match on Grosse Isle.  I take him to these matches, and while he plays, I go for a long run on the island.  Taking the obsessive workout guy persona to the extreme, I decided that ignoring the long night, alcohol and emotion from the day before, and running as usual would be a good idea.  Off I went, ready to prove to the world that a little thing like my daughter’s wedding could not keep me down.  When I got to the point farthest away from the finish line, my legs turned to stone and I could barely move.  I was on a path in the woods, in the cold, about two miles from my car, standing (barely) on non-functioning legs.  I considered making a beeline to the nearby police station and asking the cops to taxi me back to the tennis club and the sanctuary of my car.  I realized that the cops would only laugh at my predicament.  I decided that, while running was out of the question, I might be able to walk back.  I put my head down, concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and worked on ignoring my discomfort.  It took a Herculean effort (in my mind anyway), but I made it, legs shaking.  I told my wife this tale hoping for sympathy.  I got scorn.  Deserved.