On the day I married Bob, under a tree in Ada’s driveway, somebody must have walked me down the cobblestone steps. I just don’t remember who; my biological father, my foster father and my step father the Judge were all long gone. Maybe my brothers had the honor?
Ada told me that both her parents walked her down the aisle, which is a Jewish custom.
When the Bride and the Rocker married, Bob and I strolled down the garden/orchard path together. That seems more modern even though it’s an ancient tradition – after all, we are no longer “giving the Bride away,” just like we stopped promising to obey.
So I think we should just chill about poor Meg’s father in Mexico.
Leave the man alone. Everybody has some type of wedding drama. For us it was spiders and snakes.
The Bride’s last residency rotation before hopping on a plane for her wedding had been infectious disease. She landed in Cville and said her wedding perspective had changed; she’d lost a three year old to a brown recluse spider bite. She promised there’d be no Bridezilla shenanigans and the big day went off without a hitch.
Except for the snake bite that almost killed our dog Buddha. And the blue wedding napkins I forgot.
On the Rocker’s wedding day in Palm Springs, it started to rain. In the Sonoran desert no less. But the rain stopped so beautiful Aunt Kiki could walk to her groom on her father’s arm.
Neither rain, sleet nor anything else will interfere with royal protocol this Saturday. Father or no father, the rodeo must go on!
MountainMornings 
Leave a Reply