A little over a week ago, I married my stepdaughter. One of my friends in a group text said I had to phrase it that way when I talked about the wedding because it’d be funny. More accurately, on a beautifully clear day in rural Ohio, I had the honor of officiating my stepdaughter’s wedding. When people ask me how it went, I say, I didn’t pass out, throw up, or shit myself, so I consider that a win. Of course, I add in that it was beautiful or joyful, and that I was honored to have such an important role in the wedding.
When she first asked me to officiate, I got the sense that because her dad would walk her down the aisle, this was a way for me to be a part of it. I initially told her, I’d be happy to play whatever role she wished – even if that’s just as an attendee. For a while, I put everything off (becoming ordained, filing paperwork, etc.). I fought back the intrusive thoughts that occasionally crept in as I booked flights and cars and ordered my suit (they wanted me to match the groomsmen) – selfish thoughts that said, “man, this is a pain in the ass.” At times, I’d be brushing my teeth or washing my hair and wonder if my procrastination was some deep-seeded father’s refusal to acknowledge that she’s truly grown up and about to start a family on her own. I knew that wasn’t the case, but I couldn’t rule out that the enormity of the task was causing avoidance and paralysis.
I got most of the things done just in time. I had a few oh crap moments – like when I took the suit to a tailor and they said they couldn’t get it done in time, and then a different tailor was closed until after the wedding date, and I started to panic that I’d be forced to wear pants that were six inches too long. I worried about the logistics, what if I fucked up the online form, or couldn’t get a rental car, or did some other dumb thing that prevented me from officiating.
I wrote my “sermon” a little more than a week before. I sent it to my stepdaughter and prayed she didn’t want major changes or want it to be longer than it was. I worried about my hands shaking if I had to read from a printed script. Would I have a podium? A microphone? If I used the notes app on my phone, would my hands be sweaty making me drop the phone? Would I have to wear my reading glasses?
The week of the wedding is when the anxiety really hit me. I felt dazed and unproductive. It didn’t help that I was also waiting to hear back about a job where I was a finalist. Travel anxiety. Job anxiety. Public speaking anxiety. I was useless. My friends at the bar could see the “worry” on my face. I wasn’t my normal, carefree, mildly chipper and often sardonic self. They all said I’d be fine or do great, but that was of little consolation. Some advised me to practice in front of a mirror, some said to practice breathing, some said to take a shot or two before the ceremony. Someone might have suggested I work in the “mawwiage” quote from The Princess Bride. In the end, I did all of those things except the movie quote. Even though it was written out almost a week ahead of time, I put off practicing until Wednesday or Thursday. More procrastination, more anxiety.
On Thursday, I took the red-eye from California to Ohio. I didn’t sleep much on the plane and was tired when I landed. I hadn’t checked the info about my hotel until that morning, which was when I realized that check-in was at 4pm. What the hell was I going to do for eight hours, and how was I going to practice? I found a family diner near the airport where I ate breakfast and tried to figure out my day. It was the type of diner where people order iced tea with their breakfast, and the wriggly kid in the booth next to you drapes his arm over the over his side of the booth and stares at you, while his mom tugs his arm and chides him to not be rude.
I found a park just outside of Wooster, Ohio – the town where my hotel was. I strolled around the park, heard a lot of birds, wandered on a muddy trail. That took about half an hour. Cool, after the diner, the drive and the short walk in nature, only six more hours to kill. I sat in my rental car in the shade of some tall trees. I practiced. I drove to the hotel where I sat in the parking lot and practiced some more. Knowing there was no way I could spend my entire day like this, I went to see if I could check-in early. For $25, yes! I tried to nap, but couldn’t. I went and grabbed lunch and a beer and sat in the sunshine. I went back to the hotel and practiced some more. I wrote my “speech” out by hand. I put my suit on and practiced in front of a mirror. Yep, holding note cards, the hand shaking was very visible. I went back to using my phone. I took my suit off and practiced again. I went to the rehearsal dinner.
The morning of the wedding, I was feeling surprisingly good and calm about everything. I had breakfast with my mom, my niece, and my sister-in-law. I went back to the hotel, practiced once or twice, lounged around until lunch, and went back to bbq joint where I had had lunch the day before. I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat at bench in the town square where, to my surprise, about a dozen or so people were protesting the current administration as cars drove by honking in support (in rural Ohio). As I walked back to the hotel, the anxiety crept up like a long shadow that I couldn’t escape. I counted down the time I had left, had my first shot (Fernet Branca – the shot of choice in San Francisco). I got ready, practiced one or two more times, put two more airplane bottles in my jacket pockets, and headed out.
I was early-ish to the venue (because I was nervous and am always early when I’m nervous). I sat in my car and read my script one more time. I’ve never been good at memorizing things. I must have been absent for all of fourth grade when all the other kids memorized the presidents and state capitols. The continual practice wasn’t so that I could memorize what I had to say, it was so I wouldn’t trip over any of the words.
When I walked up to the venue, I saw some of the people from my life before Memphis and State College and California. My ex wife and her husband were there. My stepdaughter’s dad and stepmom were there along with some of their relatives. One of the bridesmaids I hadn’t seen since the two of them were in high school together – band friends and besties. I ducked into the bathroom for my second shot, and then walked around to get my bearings. I learned that it would be an outside ceremony (good to know) and that I’d have a lapel microphone (also good to know). My search for the sound guy and direction on where I had to be when led me to the groomsman’s suite, where one of the groomsmen proceeded to shotgun a beer. At least I wasn’t the only one trying to take the edge off. Surprisingly, not having the details explained to me before hand didn’t bother me much. Logistic are precisely the thing I sweat.
The ceremony went off with only one hitch. As I was about to pronounce them husband and wife, the groom held out his hand to show me that he was still holding the rings. When my daughter said they were too busy looking at each other when I instructed them to exchange rings, I jokingly reminded them they’ll have the rest of their life to look at each other. I started the pronouncement over – and my “job” was officially done.
Unsurprisingly, there were many tender moments. Deep hugs from my ex wife and my ex brother-in-law (people who I genuinely like and miss). The experience of getting my “first look” at the bride (they made me shut my eyes as I walked toward her for a photo moment). The groom starting to cry as she walked down the aisle. The “dad #2” father-daughter dance to the country song “Humble and Kind.”
I don’t use the word cherish very often, but that’s how I felt about the wedding and my role in it. As the California hippie who favors equality over “possession,” I’m glad that my role was more of a spiritual one as opposed to the traditional father role of “giving her away.” It wasn’t until I sat at the airport bar drinking a beer that the gravity of having officiated hit me. So long as their marriage lasts (and I hope it lasts forever for them), I’ll be directly associated with their commitment. For that, I am humbled, honored, and grateful.