And Then There was One
I happen to be the youngest in a family of three kids. I also happen to be the only non-married sibling. Both my sister and brother were proverbially set up by the parents. (I'm quite confident the tradition ends here.) Marf married about two years ago... and Stephen...well, he's been wearing the shackles for five days now.
My experience at each wedding was quite different. My sister was the first to fall, in what will go down in the annals of wedding history as "A Big Fucking Production". I distinctly remember as she and her husband pulled out of the driveway en route to the airport for their honeymoon. I was crying. She was crying. The sago palm trees in the foyer even looked a little teary.
Everyone was crying and we had no blessed clue what was so sad. I guess our tight family nucleus had been broken for the first time. Perhaps it was fear of the unknown. Hell, maybe the pollen count was high.
Stephen's wedding was a bit different. I have always expected my brother to get married. He's the marrying type- good looking, dedicated, and completely unshakeable. A woman in the throws of PMS would be hard-pressed to rattle him. I just pinned marriage as a "matter-of-fact" progression for him- and this probably accounted for my lack of emotion throughout the ceremony. Granted, I was singing for the wedding and was focused on the music for most of it. But I never really felt that brick wall of finality that usually smacks me at the onset of the vows. I plugged through each song as if I were singing in the shower. (note: shower acoustics are far better than St. Paul's Church.) Stephen grabbed me immediately after the ceremony to tell me that my rendition of the "Irish Blessing" made him cry at the altar. Apparently, I had been too busy concentrating on the sheet music to have noticed.
The reception began in typical Irish fashion, with an hour of power-drinking, followed by... another hour of power-drinking. By the time the food arrived, I was mentally playing out the proper roles for the knife and the fork, as my thirteen vodka tonics seemed to have mentally blurred my recollection of their uses. In the midst of bludgeoning my filet with a spoon, Stephen had slipped away to the center of the banquet room to the microphone.
The wedding party quieted.
"You know, it's not often that you get to meet your hero. I had the honor of asking my hero to be the best man."
I looked at my Dad and he lowered his head.
I looked back at Stephen and he began to cry.
Now, I have never seen my brother cry. I've hit him in the balls with a tennis racket - no water works. My sister had a brain tumor and I didn't see him cry during the surgery. He failed chemistry twice, and the wrath from Brother William Sullivan wasn't enough to bring the rock down.
But here was my brother, standing in front of his guests at his own wedding, and he was crying. Maybe that's the same reason I started to cry... it's hard to watch when your heros are humanized.
Brothers- 4/16/05
My experience at each wedding was quite different. My sister was the first to fall, in what will go down in the annals of wedding history as "A Big Fucking Production". I distinctly remember as she and her husband pulled out of the driveway en route to the airport for their honeymoon. I was crying. She was crying. The sago palm trees in the foyer even looked a little teary.
Everyone was crying and we had no blessed clue what was so sad. I guess our tight family nucleus had been broken for the first time. Perhaps it was fear of the unknown. Hell, maybe the pollen count was high.
Stephen's wedding was a bit different. I have always expected my brother to get married. He's the marrying type- good looking, dedicated, and completely unshakeable. A woman in the throws of PMS would be hard-pressed to rattle him. I just pinned marriage as a "matter-of-fact" progression for him- and this probably accounted for my lack of emotion throughout the ceremony. Granted, I was singing for the wedding and was focused on the music for most of it. But I never really felt that brick wall of finality that usually smacks me at the onset of the vows. I plugged through each song as if I were singing in the shower. (note: shower acoustics are far better than St. Paul's Church.) Stephen grabbed me immediately after the ceremony to tell me that my rendition of the "Irish Blessing" made him cry at the altar. Apparently, I had been too busy concentrating on the sheet music to have noticed.
The reception began in typical Irish fashion, with an hour of power-drinking, followed by... another hour of power-drinking. By the time the food arrived, I was mentally playing out the proper roles for the knife and the fork, as my thirteen vodka tonics seemed to have mentally blurred my recollection of their uses. In the midst of bludgeoning my filet with a spoon, Stephen had slipped away to the center of the banquet room to the microphone.
The wedding party quieted.
"You know, it's not often that you get to meet your hero. I had the honor of asking my hero to be the best man."
I looked at my Dad and he lowered his head.
I looked back at Stephen and he began to cry.
Now, I have never seen my brother cry. I've hit him in the balls with a tennis racket - no water works. My sister had a brain tumor and I didn't see him cry during the surgery. He failed chemistry twice, and the wrath from Brother William Sullivan wasn't enough to bring the rock down.
But here was my brother, standing in front of his guests at his own wedding, and he was crying. Maybe that's the same reason I started to cry... it's hard to watch when your heros are humanized.
Brothers- 4/16/05
posted by Michael at 7:16 PM
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