Father of the Bride

My dad is what some would call a man’s man. He’d rather give a quick pat on the shoulder than offer a hug. He plans his day around the schedule of the Detroit Red Wings, and started playing hockey himself long before Zetterburg laced up his first pair of skates. He drives a truck, works outdoors, and believes that duct tape can fix anything. I think his diapers must have been made by Carhartts. The man is just that tough.

The fact that he produced two non-athletic, artistic daughters must seem like a cosmic joke. He took things in stride, however, when we excelled more in ballet than in baseball. Although he was probably bored out of his mind each time, our dad never missed one of our recitals. He may not always understand us, yet he continues to be our strongest supporter.

My family has always been close, so it was difficult when my sister moved to Denver three years ago to attend grad school. It was even harder when she decided to stay in Colorado after graduation. It’s a wonderful place to visit, though, and we try to get out there as often as possible.

Just last month, I was fortunate enough to be able to meet my parents there for an extended weekend. During a quiet night at home, my sister decided to pop in a video. Our dad doesn’t normally sit still long enough to watch movies with us, but as my sister’s selection that evening turned out to be Father of the Bride, it seemed appropriate for him to join us.

During the film, I glanced periodically at our dad to see if he was enjoying himself. He laughed at Martin Short’s portrayal of Franck, the wedding planner, and said that he could relate to Steve Martin’s rendition of an overwhelmed father. I just so happened to look over again during the scene where the father sees his daughter not as a grown woman, but as a little girl with pigtails announcing that she’ll be getting married: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47aPsSbRcTc I noticed that my dad, the tough guy, was swiping tears from his eyes.

I turned away from my parents sitting on the couch, and saw my sister sharing an overstuffed chair with her fiancé. His arm was around her. At that moment, I got a glimpse at life from my father’s perspective. The distance between the couch and that chair suddenly seemed to be much bigger. I became very thankful for our time together that night; for just being able to sit and enjoy each other’s company, as we did when my sister and I were kids. I’m sure that evenings such as that will become less frequent as time goes on, but I know that I’ll keep the memory of that one with me for a long time.