I’ve always wanted to be in a real life disaster movie. Part of me, the same part that believes in parallel worlds and alternate realities, looks forward to this happening in my lifetime, though preferably while we’re still living up on a hill in the Bronx. Don’t want my comic books getting wet!

In more optimistic news, this weekend’s wedding was a lot of fun. Not counting my own – or my father’s town hall quickie for his second marriage – it’s only the third wedding I’ve ever been to, and the most elaborate by far. The other two were more intimate affairs, both in nice restaurants with simple ceremonies. This one was a full-blown, three-ring extravanganza with all of the bells and whistles. (In a good way; not some over-the-top, obnoxious spectacle.)

While I’ve never been a big fan of ceremony, particularly religious ceremony, I understand its power and appeal. Not unlike in the Army, where I hated official ceremonies with a passion – until I was actually in the moment and overwhelmed by the emotion such things invoke. Even the national anthem at a sports event chokes me up sometimes, and I still tear up whenever I hear Ray Charles’ Super Bowl performance of America, The Beautiful.

Weddings have that same power, something I couldn’t fully appreciate at my own. The bride and groom tend to get lost in the commotion, their attention stretched in a million directions and they’re unable to savor the individual moments until much later. It’s usually the end of the night, if not during the honeymoon, and sometimes it takes seeing the pictures weeks later to properly digest the whole thing.

I’ve always thought weddings were a relative waste of money, elaborate productions more for the benefit of the parents and guests than the bride and groom themselves. Seeing Naomi and Michael’s faces the next morning at breakfast, exhausted but absolutely radiant, thrilled that their night had gone incredibly well, has changed my mind somewhat.

Despite my own reservations beforehand, I remember Salomé and I feeling similarly exhausted but happy about our wedding once it was all over, particularly glad that we hadn’t settled for a town hall quickie and a big party. I also found myself hoping Isaac and India won’t inadvertantly shortchange themselves when their times come.

And, of course, hoping those times don’t come for at least another 25 years!

One thought on “

  1. “And, of course, hoping those times don’t come for at least another 25 years!”

    From one father to another, I do believe “at least” should receive the emphasis of that statement.

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