Sonny Gets Married and Moves Away
Saturday afternoon saw us heading towards the site of the wedding, already decked out in our fancy garments since we were not allowed an early check in by the hotel. We discussed the kids and mothers we had seen the previous day, and somehow got onto the topic of religion and how it functions as a comfort to many people. “If all your answers are contained in one book,” IP said, “it makes life a lot easier.” As you might be able to tell from that comment and this blog, we are not the type to be comforted by religion, nor do we seek answers in one place. However, it was an interesting topic that killed driving time.
Without little fanfare or incident, we arrived at the Catholic church where the ceremony was being held. Upon arrival, we each visited the restrooms, straightening up and getting ready for a long haul. Shortly afterward, the day-of planner told us we could be seated; an usher handed me a program and escorted me to a seat on his arm (IP traipsing behind). We sat down at the far end of the pew, IP scowling: “If we get married, we’re not doing that. Should I have punched him?” I smirked and looked at the program: it seemed incredibly long, and the lapsed Catholic in me screamed for escape. The ceremony started shortly afterwards, the groom grinning like a fool and the bride on both of her parents’ arms. As the ceremony began, the bride fidgeted in either excitement or an attempt to hold back tears.
The ceremony surprised me: it was short, it wasn’t sexist and the priest ended by saying “husband and wife” as opposed to “man and wife” (which the singer of the band later did—grr, I hate that). There was much talk of children, however—you know how the CC likes to get us pumping out the kiddies early and often—and it harkened back to the brood of plenty IP and I had witnessed the day before. When the ceremony was over, the bride and groom kissed, the groom cutely lifting the petite bride off her feet for a moment. We were then told to stay seated until the bride and groom returned to greet the guests. “If we get married, let’s not do this either,” IP hissed as we waited. I nodded, fine with both of his objections: I think people can sit down on their own and I can set up a reception line if I do the two-site wedding.
At the reception, after a cocktail hour and dinner, we were asked to direct our attention to the screen that had been set up at the front of the ballroom. We were treated to pictures of both bride and groom growing up and their dating history—the bride’s pictures were accompanied by “Only You” and I have had that song stuck in my head ever since. The best man, maid of honor and father of the bride each gave a speech; there were first dances, daddy-daughter dances, and mommy-son dances. It was all very touching, and a few times my old work friend would turn around, tears swimming in her eyes, beaming. I offered her a tissue, but she refused it.
What struck me about the ceremony and reception was its focus on kids and on growing up; there seemed to be a “farewell to childhood” theme going on at the reception in order to clear the way for the children that had been mentioned at the ceremony. This wedding was very much a rite of passage; the bride and groom had already left their childhood homes, but this seemed like a brief return in order to say good-bye to it as children—for good. They had entered adulthood by binding to one another and promising to have children that would go through the same rituals. The event was very traditional in that sense and it made me realize that, while the country club was beautiful, while the bride’s dress was gorgeous, while the display of childhood pictures was adorable, it was something that, for someone who is going to get married in her 30s if she does at all, wasn’t practical or even acceptable anymore. The bride and groom are in their mid-20s, but they held onto their roles as children up until the moment they approached the altar—or at least they played their parts very well for that day.
These are parts and roles that IP and I have left far behind, and it is in neither of our personalities to regress for the sake of one day. A wedding, should it happen, would be done on a smaller scale, with less nostalgia involved (neither of us is wistful when we think of the past, I think—as late bloomers, we’re both much more content with who we are now and are less likely to think of the old days as particularly good), and less tradition (or what’s thought of as tradition) adhered to. The wedding we attended in March, while too big for our tastes, didn’t have a sense of being a “farewell to childhood” that this wedding had; the March wedding was more of a party than a trip down memory lane—no roles were played at all. The roles that were played at the August wedding are dangerous only if the bride and groom seriously think everything’s going to magically change once they return from their honeymoon (they already live together and know each other’s habits and quirks; hopefully no one’s expecting kinder, gentler, more responsible versions of the other because I think the groom will continue to leave drumsticks in the shower).
Overall, though, it was a very cute wedding, and I mean cute in the best way possible—it was very much meant to be two young people embarking into a new life where the nuclear family awaits. Everything was done to a tee, with the wedding ideal met—every tradition you can think of was done, and if that’s what the bride wanted, then good on her for getting that. As for the groom, you could tell he was happy—he was as much into the idea of marriage as she was. As an observer, it was interesting for me to witness a perfectly orchestrated wedding; every other wedding I’ve been to have had its moments of non-perfection, of awkwardness, of hilarity. This was perfectly scripted, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing as long as there’s not an expectation that life will continue to be just like that every day. I’m not criticizing, by the way; part of ritual and tradition is following a certain mode of operation, so they did what they felt they needed to do.
As for me, I want my wedding to be as unscripted as possible; sure, vows will have to written and I’ll have to watch the officiant like a hawk so that nothing sexist or demeaning is said, but overall, I want the sappy and happy moments to come whenever they may. If my maid of honor and the best man don’t want to speak, I will; if my dad wants to dance with me, that’s fine, but it doesn’t need to be rehearsed; if the lead singer of my band calls my husband a man and me simply a wife, I’ll happily rip her a new one right then and there; if a drinking contest starts and my new husband is off somewhere guzzling down car bombs or sangrias or what have you, I won’t get angry (I’ll join in). My wedding might end up looking haphazard to some, but in the end, I just want to let what’s going to happen, happen. As Leonard Nimoy said to the hot dog vendor on The Simpsons: “Surprise me.” A big scoop of relish just might hit the spot.
