Attending the perfect wedding
So my brother, Davey Crockett, is married.
I don’t have a funny story to tell you about how the wedding was nearly a disaster, but then we did something clever and/or heart-warming and it all went on without a hitch. A pity because I could have worked that up into a screen play and sold it to Hollywood. (Honestly, the worst thing that happened the entire week is Davey regaling the children with all the tales about how mean Foo-Dog and I were to him as little kids, and half of those were even taller than Davey.)
I don’t have any funny stories, because it did go off without a hitch. There wasn’t any friction between our families; when our parents met hers for the first time, the moms hugged and the dads shared a beer.
The ceremony was simple, honest and down-to-earth. They got married in a crowd of their friends – literally, everyone stood in a big, huggy circle around them – under the open sky.
They came before the minister – an old and dear friend of theirs – by themselves, without any attendants. They didn’t need any; they were entering this marriage as just the two of them, and they will spend all the many, many years of their marriage as just the two of them.
(They did recruit the Little Professor as a ringbearer at the last moment, when Davey realized the ring boxes didn’t fit in his pocket; the Professor puffed up like a peacock over taking two steps and handing the boxes to his uncle before retreating back into the crowd.)
My brother is very, very tall and gangly, with dark coloring and the tendency to scowl often. She is petite and fair, a little bit shy and a lot sweet. The minister spoke about how alike they are – and he was right. In all the ways that are important, in their hearts and personalities, they are two peas in a pod.
They wrote their own vows. Glinda the Good Witch (my new sister-in-law and sister-of-the-heart) spoke about how she had prayed daily to find a good, honest man who would love her unconditionally, the same way God loved her. I assure you, once she finished, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
Davey told a funny story – storytelling runs in the family, you know – about how he had first asked Glinda out, suggesting their coming together was “fate,” but when he was unable to tell her the color of her eyes, she turned on her heel and left him flat.
Everyone had a good laugh … and then Davey starting talking about how much Glinda means to him. My stalwart, stoic (not-so) little brother’s voice wavered and cracked and his mouth worked like a fish on a hook, but he got the words out – he loves her, she means everything to him, she’s the best thing that ever happened to him and his greatest luck was in meeting her.
The ceremony was short, but the line of well-wishers long, and the toasts lasted well into the night.
When we got home, Grandmama and I went through the hundreds of photos the Professor and Sassy Saint, my little paparazzi, had taken.
“They look so much in love,” she sighed. “So, when do you think they’ll have a baby?”
Baby Watch count down in three … two … one …
(Wallace-Minger, The Weirton Daily Times community editor, is a Weirton resident and can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org)