Nineteen years ago today, I was a day away from getting married.
Some little girls dream of wedding dresses and their Prince Charming; I was dreaming of fiction novels I would write (still waiting for those to come to fruition…) and playing with my Chihuahua, Che-che. As a high school student, I even contemplated not attending college (not sure my parents would have agreed with that, even had that been my decision). I haven’t ever been the person to have a five-year or a ten-year plan – which is probably why when I fell head over heels in love with Kyle and we planned a wedding in 11 months, I had no idea what to do.
Mind you, at this time, I didn’t have Pinterest or Instagram or any of the helpful tools brides have now (which also makes it way more intense for me, but thankfully, I’ve only done this wedding this once – when my girls get married will be a whole new adventure). My own parents had eloped, so it wasn’t like my mom had even ever planned a wedding.
So it made complete sense that at 10 a.m. the morning of my wedding day, I was racing in my Mustang 15 minutes to get to town because I forgot a wedding cake server.
I don’t know why it was such a big deal. I don’t know why my mom and I forgot to purchase one. Why couldn’t I use an ordinary cake server? Because it was my wedding day, and I just knew I had to have a fancy official wedding cake server, and four hours before saying, “I do,” no one was thinking too clearly anyway.
My dad went with me. I don’t remember him talking much, except to remind me that I wouldn’t be able to say my vows if I was in jail for speeding. He didn’t see what the fuss was all about. He would have used a normal cake server. He would have used his pocketknife, frankly, and wouldn’t have thought twice. He had eloped with my mother and offered me and Kyle cold hard cash in exchange for this wedding pomp and circumstance, but neither my mom nor I were hearing anything about it (Kyle probably would have taken the cash).
So while my brain is racing as fast as my car, my dad is just calmly sitting in the passenger seat as I go to town, thankfully find a wedding server (naturally, it wasn’t my favorite, but it was a fancy one), and then race back to my house.
And on our way back, he just calmly states, “You know, you could have taken the money, and you could be on a beach in Hawaii and I could be mowing the lawn, and we both could be happy.”
Now why’s he gotta choose violence at that moment?
At any rate, the marriage took place without incident (other than the Superman reveal, but I’ll save that story for another column), and we started our lives together as Mr. And Mrs. Kyle Roberts – five days after Hurricane Katrina, just a few months after our graduations from Louisiana Tech, and not knowing at all what the future would hold.
The future has held a lot in the last 19 years, good and bad, and I can tell you one thing: all the beauty of my wedding dress, all the fun of the wedding party and the gifts and the music and the flowers – none of it has held a candle to the life we’ve created together.
Oh, and the cake server? Couldn’t tell you where it disappeared to if my life depended on it.
