So, our little boy is all married off. He found a woman who would take him, and he’s a husband now. How funny to think of my brother as a married man.
My family has always been good at the divorce thing, but not as proficient with the marriage. Or at least the staying married part. They seem all right with the marriage, but the glue just doesn’t stick that well.
But this boy has taken the plunge, and looks like he’ll be just fine.
This is the same little kid who used to bring home bottle caps and cigarette butts, infuriating my mother because he kept them all in his desk drawer. This is the kid who used to be a model train fanatic and would dig holes in the backyard to see how much dirt-per-square-inch he could pack on his body. (If only there had been a category for him in the Guinness Book of World Records. He’d be the record holder to this day.)
And look how I talk about him: Nostalgically like he’s gone. Like he’s been married off and then moved to Pascaloosa. Like he’s not around anymore and isn’t the same ole’ Scott who’s still digging holes in the backyard and collecting cigarette butts. He does both and he’s still around.
So far he’s off to a good start. He sailed right through the actual ceremony, but he worried some of us with stumbles at rehearsal while doing a dry run on the vows.
Minister: “Now repeat after me: I, Scott, take you, Holly, to be me my lawfully wedded wife.”
Scott: “I, Holly, take you, Scott …”
I thought that was the beginning of the end.
“See what you’ve done to me,” I figured he might shout. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m lost. This is a sign. This and that talking lizard on TV. That talking lizard visited me in my sleep last night. He told me to become a hermit and eat Spam all day long. Well, that’s what I’m gonna’ do. I’m out.”
But he didn’t crack. He didn’t budge. He kept going.
Then came Holly.
Minister: “I, Holly, take you, Scott, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
As she was about to begin, I said out loud faintly, “I, Scott …,” which must have been just subliminal enough, for she replied, “I, Scott …”
I raised my hands in triumph, and then was escorted to the exit.
Sometimes weddings are like sporting events or figure skating. You sit on pins and needles just knowing something terrible will happen at any minute. Walking up, the bride might step on her dress and introduce the world to her undergarments. An old girlfriend might hop the fence and run in screaming, “You are my true love. Whisk me off to the Caribbean, Paco.” And you never know when a drunk biker gang might wander in and wreak havoc. That’s why wedding ceremonies need to be quick. Get it going, get those vows in there fast and roll out before catastrophe even parks the car.
But it was smooth sailing on the real day. Not a single hitch. Not even when it was mentioned that marriage is also about bringing little ones into the world. I pictured my brother’s eyes lighting up like a bull whose private region was getting … how do I say? … reconfigured. I pictured his mighty frame toppling over with a crash, crushing the ring bearers, or another outburst: “Children! Nobody said nuthin’ ‘bout no children! A talking lizard warned me about this. I’m out.”
But nothing. He did it. Now he’s a married man.
“Congratulations,” I told them during my toast. “Congratulations on your wedding. Congratulations on surviving the run-up to your wedding. And congratulations on the fact that no family members were harmed or killed through it all.”
Congratulations on everything, for marriage is a truly amazing event. And most of all, stop listening to talking lizards.