Memory Monday

In honor of my parents' 14th anniversary today (and by "parents," I mean mom and stepdad), I'll share a wedding memory.

They decided early in the wedding planning that we would be allowed to wear whatever we wanted. I think they believed it'd be an easier transition to blended-family-hood if they weren't into a very rigid wedding. I was 11, my older sister was 17, my younger sister was 9, and my brother was 3. Okay, he didn't quite get to pick out whatever he wanted, or he'd have come in a Power Rangers costume. Jennifer (the older sister) and I picked out very nice dresses at Sears, but then for some reason didn't get them. It was either the cost was too high or they couldn't be altered in time, I can't remember.

Jennifer wore a very pretty blue or purple number, very classy, very apropos for a wedding. Alanna wore a nice, frilly shade of pink. Seth wore an awesome white suit, matching his dad perfectly.

I, on the other hand, just so happened to be going through a MEAN bout of pre-teen rebellion. Angry, running away, hitting people (including my mom...), basically the works. I think I was even an atheist at the time. Instead of getting anything remotely appropriate for a wedding, I grabbed the nearest bright salmon-colored, bow in the wrong place for an 11-year-old, no straps, rhinestones, satiny thing. And wore bright white tights with it. And bright white shoes with equally flashy rhinestones. I show up like a neon "Open" sign in all of my parents' wedding pictures, it's terrible. I also put my hair up in a giant white bow. Nobody could say I didn't match... myself.

To this day, my parents don't say much about it. They poke a little fun, but don't express any kind of regret at my choice of gaudy, outlandish bridesmaid's attire.

Of course, when my dad and stepmom got married, I wore a tuxedo with a skirt, and was my dad's "best man." I walked my aunt down the aisle.

I believe these things encouraged the fact that I had a pretty non-traditional wedding. My stepdad was my ring bearer, and while everyone else wore black jackets, he wore a grey one. I could not have cared less, although he seemed embarassed. The church wasn't even finished - still going through renovations, so our wedding's backdrop was freshly spackled drywall. Didn't matter one bit to either of us. It's not the wedding that matters, it's the marriage, and Drew and I just wanted to be married. I'm glad my parents taught me that.

So, I tip my glass of milk to Mommy and Papa Steve on their 14th wedding anniversary, and wish them another 114 years... although the chance of them living that long is about as high as the chance of them reading my blog.