Old Age Day by Day March 30, 2010

I was only in a wedding once. I was five years old and it was my cousin's wedding. She was eighteen and just graduated from high school and she married a farmer and converted to Catholicism. This was my mother's side of the family, all Baptist, but I don't remember anyone making a deal out of it. Of course, at five, I was mainly concerned with my dotted swiss overlay yellow dress and the ring bearer. He had blond curls and was as confused as my younger brother, so I bossed him around. There was a wedding breakfast, and the wedding and mass, then luncheon, followed by photographs all afternoon then dinner and dancing. It was like being a princess in a fairy tale for me. I guess my aunt must have paid for the whole shebang, and she was a widow, so I don't quite know how she managed. However, my father, who gave away the bride, thereafter took to whispering when my mother was not around that he'd give us a thousand dollars if we eloped. I don't know that there was a lot of danger of that at two and five, but he repeated the offer at least yearly until, well, first I eloped, then my brother. My dad and my mom were married in a courthouse. Dad must have liked it, and whatever my mother thought, it was wartime and they were poor. There was not much choice. Mom wore a navy blue suit with a corsage, and dad his uniform. I know Mom would have loved to make my dress and have a fuss, but I never knew if my dad regretted his tactic. If I hadn't gotten a divorce and later remarried, my parents would never have been able to attend one of their kid's weddings. Since my second was only fifteen people, it was extremely inexpensive and manageable, and my father got to wear his tuxedo and take home the flowers. I believe the whole thing cost around three hundred dollars. Ah, the good old days. Now you can't get the wedding shoes for that price, and the dresses are the cost of new cars and the whole celebration would pay outright for a nice house.

I forgot the bouquet. I loved my bouquet of baby yellow roses. I made certain that my daughter, who was three at the time, had a tiny bouquet of pink roses when she walked up the isle ahead of me. My son, who was five, wanted to go in the car with my husband and I from the church to my parents' house. He started sobbing on the church steps, but my dad lured him into his car with the promise of ice cream. That's still a good way to get him to do something.

I don't know why I've never been the maid of honor or matron of honor. I've been invited to plenty of weddings, but since I was already married at nineteen, I think I was not bridal party material. That is, up until now. Who knows what the future holds? And if not, I've got a black and white photo of my cousin, the groom, the six of each gender attendants and myself and the ring bearer, immortalized. I am grinning like the cat who swallowed the canary.