A Wedding Celebration

I love weddings. I love the way that each one is unique but the process is always the same – The vows, the music, the oohs and ahs from the guests, the cake in the face, the first dance, the throwing of the bouquet and of course the occasional fight.

Next week I’ll be heading back to Toledo to celebrate my nephew’s marriage. It’s a real family affair as he will be the first of my sons’ cousins to tie the knot. It’s a short 5 day trip that should be a lot of fun and celebration with little sleep. Being Polish, I can tell you that weddings in my family have always been major events and each one usually finds its way into our Szenderski folklore. This trend was auspiciously started by my mother and father’s wedding.

I will tell you the story as I heard it many years after the fact while preparing to give my father’s eulogy. My Dad’s good friend Stan (aka Stash) had been my father’s boyhood friend and one of the last surviving members of the “gang”. Being the oldest I was lucky enough to meet most everybody from my dad’s childhood. And when I was very young I would stay awake listening to the group playing cards downstairs, regaling each other with stories of their youth. We had an old house and instead of a real air vent with heat, there had been a hole punched into the ceiling to allow heat from downstairs to find its way upstairs into my room. It made for a great way to secretly observe (peering thru the grate) and of course listen to everything happening below. I can honestly say that I retain very little from those clandestine observations. The guys would talk so loud and fast and mixing the conversation with Polish, that all I really remember is the energy and the feeling that they truly enjoyed being together and loved each other. They would laugh at the others’ jokes, slap each other on the back and basically never let a moment lapse without laughter. I can hear it even now, all of them lost in the moment and seemingly not a care in the world.

Back to Stan and the wedding eulogy story. My brothers and I were sitting in the vestibule of the church and the priest was asking about any stories we may want to share at the funeral mass. Stan asked if we had heard about the fight at our father’s wedding. What fight? – And I and my five brothers leaned forward in our seats to listen. Stan told it with a flourish and a lot of detail naming the many people involved at the Palladium where the wedding reception was held. The gist of the story is pretty simple: It seems that some people on my mother’s side of the family, consisting of half Irish and half German, had a problem with my grandfather. Stan wasn’t clear about why, but it seems that one particular individual from my mom’s side of the family started harassing my grandpa and sure enough, name calling ensued. This one particular guy was in my dad’s dad’s face and was swearing at him for some reason. At that moment, according to Stan, he got my dad’s attention and pointed to the ruckus at which point my father flew across the room, clad in his white tuxedo, and came up and cold cocked the guy. Both families emptied their chairs and faced off. Silence and tension for a moment, then the music started and with drinks all around, things cooled off – according to Stan.

I know so many people and I’m sure that you do too that have some kind of wedding story: A lost ring, an unruly relative or even a reluctant bride or groom. I understand that they are now offering “Cold Feet” insurance for weddings so that if one or both back out for some reason the expense is covered by insurance. I wonder what so many millions of first generation transplants and immigrants think about “Cold Feet” insurance. What in the heck is that? I know that I have used the term and understand its meaning but I sure can’t explain it. If anybody knows the derivation of the idiom, please share it with me.

Cold feet not withstanding, standing up and taking life long vows of love and obedience to each other are a big deal. It’s sacred in my view whenever one commits until death. A long time to be sure and hopefully filled with love and joy and that often elusive trait called bliss. I believe that every marriage begins with bliss from the moment one says “I do”. And after that moment it’s work – sometimes it’s fun and sometimes not, every situation is unique.

And so for all of us reading this, whether we’re happily married or not or never been married and don’t know the difference, I suggest that the wedding is the one singular, unlike any other, event that tends to freeze time and honor into a moment – a moment of bliss, joy and hope – a moment that is never forgotten.