For full effect,
download “Bad Kids” by The Black Lips and play at maximum volume throughout the
duration of this post. I was going to use the song by Manson, but well, I'm sure you can understand why I didn't.
You’ll have to
forgive the tardiness of this post, sometimes life-altering conversations and
103-degree temperatures for a week take priority over a web journal to my kids.
But regardless of my excuses, I apologize for not keeping you entertained. With
that being said, can I just tell you that weddings make me laugh? They are the
most hectic, stressful, OMG-I-AM-PULLING-MY-HAIR-OUT-FROM-UNDER-THIS-VEIL days
in anyone’s life. 24 hours of pure pandemonium with the intent of celebrating
the betrothal of two people who somehow met at the right time during the right
place at the right instances of their short lives. Weddings are ironic to say
the least.
Culturally,
weddings are heavily influenced by whatever part of the world the Bride hails
from. Predominantly I have seen the Utah culture steer a wedding celebration
down the road of a church hall with plastic bouquets tossed in basketball
hoops, because that’s what sheltered cornbread people do in these parts. On Saturday however, the Bride gave her claim to fame to the islands of
the South Pacific. Cue emotional dancing, loud shrieks of passion, and the
nearest relatives doing a mild version of the Haka, all while random people
walked up to the Bride and tossed money at her as she performed her celebration
dance. I’ve never really known of a culture that enthusiastically promotes the
concept of throwing money at girls on a stage, but hey everyone is different.
As the night
carried on celebrating this young couple, I sat at a dinner table in between
two of the most noble “power couples” I’ve ever had the privilege of gawking
over all while ladybug boogers floated around in our drinks. To my left was an
all-star Dixie State dream team who sarcastically tell people that yes, it’s
crazy they’ve been married for over five years and they almost have enough
money for a brand new boat/mind your own damn business on when we’re going to
have kids. To my right was a couple who are a few weeks away from welcoming
their third little runt into the pack of kids who decide to contract the e.Bola
virus or the Black Plague whenever Dad decides to be away from them longer than
five hours at a time. That is loyalty, I tell you.
As I sat there on
Saturday night getting drunk on raspberry lemonade ladybug boogers, watching
7-year old ring bearers receive the inspiration to one day be pole dancers, I
had a small moment of reflection that I will admit did bring a few tears to my
eyes. Maybe it was divine inspiration hitting emotions that I didn’t really
know existed. Maybe it was Karma touching me in the heart to teach me a
life-lesson that you see in Hallmark movies. Maybe it was the concoction of
Nyquil, Sudafedrin, and Carbamazepine to combat my week-long bout with the flu,
who knows? Whatever it was, I felt grateful to be sitting at that table by four
beautiful people sharing their lives with one another.
You see kids, people
are important. People are significant. People are what get us from Point A to
Point B, and all the crap that happens in between. People are who we tell
stories to, who we tell stories about, and who we make stories with. People are
who we put up with, and likewise put up with us. People are the most important
facet of our existence, and as a seven-year old dancer had 55-year old women
making it rain over him and insects crawled out of my carafe, I came to realize
that life lesson yet again, late on a Saturday night.
People are what make everything beautiful.
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