This weekend I attended a rare event for someone of my middle age; a family wedding. My much younger 1st cousin was marrying. She is an only child of an older father, a father she lost to cancer years ago. On her wedding day she was escorted down the aisle by her late father’s twin brother to her rendezvous at the altar with the groom who had lost his mother at an early age and was standing next to his best man, his own identical twin brother.
Weddings are, it seems to men, the ultimate expression of the vast female conspiracy. Beginning with the complete giddiness that infects young women at the sight of a friend wearing an engagement ring, they progress through planning that takes months, complex logistics and scheduling, intra-family and inter-family diplomacy, vast expense, and high emotional tension. This culminates in a brief ceremony (in this case a Nuptial Mass, which though long by wedding standards is only a single hour) which is book-ended by parties attended by varying subsets of family and friends with widely varying levels of decorum.
Looking from outside, this is all a bit absurd. But the true absurdity here is not the event; it is the male compulsion to get “outside” the process and develop an objective view of something that so sweetly trumps such analysis. Whatever could be an objective view of a thing whose ultimate meaning is human intimacy, and the web of family that nurtures, defines, and surrounds the intimacy of bride and groom? And one’s own perception of the event is colored by our own age, and our own memories of the past. As I saw my own wife beaming at this bride, I was reminded of an old picture of her as a young bridesmaid, beaming the very same look at her friend-bride. This look of hers has not changed in decades. She has a special look that is most clearly seen when she is with a bride. The occasion brings a glow to her, one that is always there, but radiates intensely on an occasion like this.
The gallant uncle escorting the bride had been the groom himself 45 years ago. My brother and I were pre-schoolers but invited somehow to his wedding and reception, our first chance to attend such an event. The memories of that day are probably my strongest of any day at such a young age. It was a window into the world of adults on what was, we understood very well, a special occasion although what made it special was a complete mystery to a 5-year old boy. Two generations later my brother and I are again seated around a table at a similar event watching our own children celebrate their youth and their friends, watching a celebration of family that extends from 80 year old dancing grandparents to a group of 2 young flower girls and their 2 cousins who take everything in and dance with abandon at their first wedding reception.
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