Today is my Dad and stepmom’s 25th wedding anniversary. Hurray! That’s a long time.
From what I’ve been told they had their wedding on New Year’s Eve for tax purposes, which seems to me like a silly reason to get married but some people will do anything to avoid paying taxes.
Actually, I remember earlier that year telling them they should get married (5-year-olds don’t think that’s an inappropriate thing to say) so I figure they were just listening to good advice. I’m pretty impressed; since then my matchmaking attempts have more often resulted in bad relationships and both parties hating me, so I should’ve just stopped at the one.
I remember the wedding, too, at St. John’s which is this massive church, though we only used a side wing. I was given the task of taking the wedding bands from the minister guy to give to Dad and Bertha, except he was holding out the rings on top of his opened bible, and first I tried to take the bible and then I tried to take something else (maybe the ring boxes?) but I was supposed to just extract the rings and hand them over. For years I was embarrassed by this but nobody else remembers that so I carried the shame of supposedly ruining their wedding ceremony for nothing.
In a society where 50% of marriages end in divorce, I’m glad to see that Dad and Bertha have continued that statistic’s legacy by each having successful second marriages*. I’m still trying to find a first husband so I can get my practice marriage over with in preparation for the real one, but alas, that sort of talk does not seem to convince men to propose. Don’t know why.
So, happy anniversary, parental units. Thank you for giving me a stable weekend home environment all these years, and thank you for letting me share in your happiness.
*My mom and stepdad are both on their second marriages, too, going on 23 years.
