"Nothing to Do With Me"

I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world,
But she’s just like a maze
Where all of the walls
All continually change.
And I’ve done all that I can
To stand on her steps
With my heart in my hand.
Now I’m starting to see
Maybe it’s got nothing to do with me.

Fathers, be good to your daughters.
Daughters will love like you do.
Girls become lovers
Who turn into mothers,
So mothers,
Be good to your daughters too.
(Daughters, lyrics and music by John Mayer)

“Are you ready?” I asked softly, looking straight ahead and placing my right-hand over my daughter’s, as she took my left arm at the rear of the church. We were suddenly alone, during the break in the processional order.
“Yea, dad, I’m ready” she replied, keeping her head forward and giving my arm a reassuring squeeze as she released a deep breath.
Dee, the wedding coordinator, had shut the wide doors at the departure of the Maid of Honor. The pause gave me a chance to reassess my immediate surroundings for the last time. The doors facing noisy Topanga Canyon Boulevard had been closed for the processional march. With the breeze and traffic cut off, the lobby of the church was hotter and quieter than ever. Religious pamphlets, holy pictures, and scattered copies of last Sunday’s bulletin lined the display shelves and counters against the wall. Our only companion was the life-sized replica of Jesus in the Tomb, awaiting Easter morning in a glass case at the far end of the lobby. Only moments ago, the mahogany-hued room had been filled with a dozen members of the family and wedding party, lining up in marching order. Toñito’s tall and angular frame buttressed the fragile and slight figures of his surviving grandparents, my mother, and Kathy’s father.

Three slender maidens, dressed in elegantly simple, lapis lazuli gowns acted as a buffer for Prisa and her Maid of Honor. Brigid, Prisa’s cousin, and Staci and Maria, Prisa’s long-time roommates, were the first line of defense, assistance, and humor. They had been sensitive to all the mood changes and difficulties that arose over the last two days. Next to them stood Prisa and Katie. Best Friends since high school, they provided each other the comfort and fierce loyalty that only 15 years of shared experiences can bring. This day was one of the moments they had talked about and visualized as girls, fulfilling the promise to be present for each other in times of great importance. As Maid of Honor, Katie had been a one-woman entourage through the engagement process, matrimonial preparations, bridal showers, and spontaneous crises. My wife and I stood silently to one side watching these groups interact, each of us lost in our own thoughts and emotions. We would catch each others eye periodically and smile, but neither of us could offer solace or advice as to how to handle the feelings that were sweeping over us as we looked upon our daughter, her wedding party, our son, and our parents standing in front of us. Soon each pair and individual member of the procession departed through the doors at their designated time and interval. Now Prisa and I were the last two people standing in the warm hush of the church vestibule.

 

I feared this moment all week. I had peevishly refused to think about what I would do or say. Since the day (See July 1, 2006) Prisa first mentioned the possibility of marrying Joe, the logical side of my brain and the emotional side had been fighting a seesaw battle over how to deal with a wedding: Would everything be different after this event? Was I losing my daughter forever? Or, did anything REALLY change after the ceremony; and wouldn’t Prisa always be my daughter, my little girl? Rather than engaging in this spiraling dive into madness, I avoided it. I blocked all thoughts of the wedding and it's planning throughout the engagement year. Luckily I had been studying Prisa and her mother during the last two weeks, especially the morning of the wedding. They had been cool and confident in all of their preliminary planning, organization, and implementations. Everything was coming together as smoothly and efficiently as they had visualized and discussed; but today, as the wedding party dressed for the ceremony, Prisa and Kathy were becoming increasingly anxious. They were having trouble accepting the unexpected events and independent actions of others. I was on the verge of giving Prisa some Principal’s clichés about relaxing and going with the flow of the day, when a sharp look from Katie stopped me. I’d been ready to draw some theoretical parallel between her wedding to other large-scale and stressful school events that I was familiar with, like graduation. When I saw the Maid of Honor step up with the alertness of a lioness protecting her cub, and giving me a medusa-like gaze of warning, I reconsidered. Giving practical fatherly or principal advice was not going to relieve today’s nerves and anxiety. From that point on I decided to be quiet and helpful, by letting Katie and the other girls do the talking and the rescuing. This last moment alone at the back of the church was not about me, or my sense of loss, it was about Prisa. Today was her day. She loved this guy named Joe and was committed to building a future with him. The only thing I needed to do was be present, loving, and supportive. I had been present at her birth, and at every significant (and insignificant) moment of her life. This was one just one more moment in that life, and I would continue to be around her for a long, long time.

The doors swung open and Dee reappeared, holding up her hand for us to wait for the musical cue. Soon we heard Danny, Prisa’s cousin, playing the introductory chords to Wagner’s traditional Wedding March on the altar piano.
“That’s it” Dee whispered, moving to one side to let us process forward.
Prisa and I took one step and stopped. Without speaking or signaling to each other, but sensing our mutual wonder, we paused to gaze at the spectacle assembled before us. Having honored the nuptial tradition to avoid seeing or being seen by the groom at the front of the church, Prisa and I had no clue as to the size or identity of the gathering within. I tightened my hold of Prisa’s hand and let my eyes scan the multitude. A vast sea of bright and glowing faces extended before us, and wave after wave of beaming smiles seemed to swell up from both sides of the aisle and crash over us. I will always remember the oceanic scope of that vision, because I cannot recall the name of any one particular person in that huge crowd. Prisa told me later that the only person she recognized by name was her uncle John. We resumed our measured walk down the aisle in rhythm with the music from Lohengrin, when I noticed a gaggle of unfamiliar teenage girls smiling, waving, and pushing their cameras and each other forward to get as close as possible to us as we walked by.
“That’s my basketball team” Prisa whispered in explanation, without moving her lips or breaking her smile. “They told me they were coming”.
Our slow motion walk continued in this dreamlike, timeless state, until I saw Joe moving from his mark at the far side of the church toward the crossroads point in front of the altar. This was the bride-exchange we practiced the night before at the rehearsal; but I had avoided deciding what I would say to Joe, or how I would release Prisa. Upon reaching my mark at the second pew, I simply released my hold on Prisa and moved to embrace Joe.
“I love you Joe” was all I could think to say, as I hugged him. I took his left hand, placing it in the bride’s right, and then kissed her cheek saying “I love you, little girl”.
“I love you too, Dad” she replied with a knowing smile.
With that I stepped into the pew and joined my bride of 34 years to watch the wedding of our daughter.

While discussing the upcoming marriage at dinner the week before, our longtime friend Kathy (See Christmas Adam) gave us some sound advice. “Just concentrate on the wedding ceremony; that’s the important part. The rest is just a party”. As it turned out, she was right, especially with a Catholic nuptial wedding. As soon as the presiding celebrant, Father Sal, descended the altar to greet the bride and groom, along with the assembled congregation, Prisa and Joe were enveloped in the safety and comfort of the Catholic mass and the Sacrament of Matrimony. I could almost see them taking deep breaths of air and finally relaxing (Or was that me finally breathing and relaxing?). From this point onward, a priest they had known for many years would guide them through an age-old ceremony and ritual in Prisa’s home church. Prisa and her family had celebrated mass in this Church for 21 years. She had attended the parish school since third grade. This was her home parish, and the mass that would surround the marriage ceremony was as natural to her, Joe, and their families, as waking up in the morning. In the Catholic-Christian tradition, a nuptial mass is a long and wondrous event that is also a sacrament. If my memory served me right, a sacrament, as defined by the Baltimore Catechism, “is an outward sign, instituted by God, to give grace”. We believe that a Catholic marriage takes a civil transaction, which is performed every day in courts and chapels throughout the world, and infuses it with God’s grace and love during the outward and public exchange of rings and promises. The mass that follows is another sacramental layer. In sharing the Eucharist (the Body and Blood of Christ) we commemorate the recurring truth that God “so loved us” that He “sent his only Son into the world so that we might have life through Him”. We are therefore reminded, “If God so loved us; we also must love one another” (Second Reading – 1 John, 4:7-12).

These sacraments do not exclude the involvement of the bride and groom. Although the steps, movements, and rituals have not changed for centuries, Prisa and Joe were deeply involved in planning the liturgy and identifying the participants. They had chosen the music and musicians, the readings and readers, the petitions and petitioners, and all the other participants. Her cousin Danny would play the music. Her brother and Joe’s Aunt Lillian would read selections from the Old and New Testament. Her mother and Joe’s sister, Lisa, would light the family Unity Candle. Four of Prisa’s cousins, Caitlin, Brenna, Marisa, and Maria,  would read their petitions. Joe’s “adopted parents” Salvador and Rosa would bring up the “gifts” of bread and wine for the Eucharist, and Prisa’s aunt and uncle, Patti and Dick, would act as Eucharistic ministers during communion. That afternoon, the families and friends of Prisa and Joe united with the Catholic Church to surround them, embrace them, love them, and witness their vows and commitment to each other. The sacramental ceremonies ended when Father Sal formerly introduced the newly minted spouses to the congregation and Prisa and Joe kissed as husband and wife.  Danny provided an additional family-insider touch by beginning Beethoven's Ode to Joy with an opening riff from Los Pereginos, the traditional song from the Mexican Posadas sung at my mother’s Christmas Eve party. Once the wedding was over, only the party at the country club remained.

I never relaxed at the reception until I took off my tie after finishing my toast and dancing with my daughter. Those two tasks loomed over me like vultures waiting to swoop down and tear my flesh with thoughts of panic and loss. Since those two activities did not occur until after dinner, I was looking at a long afternoon and evening. The agenda called for cocktails by the pool while wedding photographs were taken, then moving to the dining room for the traditional sequence of events: entrance of the bridal party with the bride and groom, dancing to a DJ, dining, and finally toasts and the father-daughter dance. In the meantime everyone else seemed to be having a good time. I kept myself entertained by chatting with relatives and old friends, posing for photographs with the bride and groom, and restaging photos of our own marriage 34 years ago with Kathy and our 1975 wedding party. After dinner, the DJ finally introduced the toasts and my moment had come. Kathy and I went onto the dance floor together and, while Joe and Prisa listened, I gave my toast:

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and family and friends of Joe and Teresa. My name is Tony, and I’m the Father of the Bride and Joe’s new Father-in-law.

I want to take a moment to thank my lovely wife Kathy, for taking the lead in planning and organizing these festivities along with Prisa and Joe. The wedding, ceremony, reception, and dinner have been lovely.

Kathy and I have known Joe for about 5 years. First as the mysterious Serra High School teacher who was dating our daughter, and later as the serious and conscientious suitor who was willing to brave the scrutiny and interrogations by family members and friends at countless parties and dinners during Christmas and the holidays. It was during these family gauntlets that we realized that Prisa saw something special in this young man, and believed in him. Over the years, we saw why.

If you’ve noticed, I interchange the names Teresa and Prisa. Some of you know her by one name, some by both. She was actually named after the great Spanish, woman saint, mystic, and Doctor of the Church, St. Teresa of Avila. However, her brother Tony, who was two years older, found it tiresome to pronounce all three syllables at once – so he shortened them to two, and softened the “T” sound to “P”: Te/ree/sa became Pree/sa. Today, through a sacramental re-balancing, we add a new 3-syllable name, Mac/door/man – Te/ree/sa Mac/door/man. That was the joke.

A marriage is the sum of a logarithmic equation (okay, perhaps I wrote this toast with a blog in mind) of countless families, parents, and grandparents that flows back in time on an eternal thread. At this moment, Teresa and Joe are the evolving products of the love and expectations that their parents invested in them. Kathy and I are very fortunate to be here today to witness this sacrament and these ceremonies; and it is only fitting to take a moment to remember and honor the memory of Leonard and Mary, the parents of Joe and Lisa, who were not able to be here today. Even without their physical presence, they are here in spirit, and in their son and daughter. We were never able to meet or know Mary or Leonard, but Kathy and I recognize them through the actions, character, and choices of their children. I’m confident that they would be as happy and proud of this union as we are today.

I have a confession to make – Teresa is my favorite daughter. There have been specific, crossroad moments in time when she has been transfigured to Kathy and me – times when we saw her transformed into someone new and different, right before our eyes. This happened at the OLV May Crowning in 1994, when she stopped being a little girl and turned into a young lady. It occurred on her return from Kairos, when we looked at each other through new eyes of love and understanding. It happened during her graduation from Louisville High School when we saw her gowned and garlanded like a Jane Austen debutante ready to challenge and master college and the world; and again when she graduated from Loyola Marymount University and said she wanted to pursue a Master’s degree, teaching credential, and a career in education. But I don’t think that I’ve ever seen her as beautiful and radiant as I do today. Today she changed into a woman and a wife, right before our very eyes.

It is with a heart brimming with joy and happiness that I ask you to join Kathy and me in blessing this union of Joe and Prisa. Please raise your glasses to Prisa and Joe and wish them a long and healthy life, filled with great love, great happiness, and great faith in each other.  To Joe and Prisa”.

 With that Prisa and Joe came forward to hug us, and I took my daughter into my arms for our dance. We had attempted a brief and awkward rehearsal two nights before, but I was trusting that the actual moment would inspire me into more graceful and fluid movements. The song we selected was perfectly suited for that magic moment, and it swept us up and turned us, momentarily, into a modern version of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Paul Simon’s song, Father and Daughter, had always been my favorite because it perfectly described the feelings a father has for his daughter. On this evening it became my song, and I joined Paul in serenading my little girl as we swayed and danced together:

If you leap awake
In the mirror of a bad dream,
And for a fraction of a second
You can’t remember where you are.
Just open your window
And follow your memory upstream.
To the meadow in the mountain
Where we counted every falling star.

I believe the light that shines on you
Will shine on you forever,
And though I can’t guarantee
There’s nothing scary hiding under your bed,
I’m gonna stand guard
Like a postcard of a Golden Retriever
And never leave till I leave you
With a sweet dream in your head.

I’m gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow,
Gonna paint a sign
So you’ll always know
As long as one and one is two,
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you.
(Father and Daughter: music and lyrics by Paul Simon)

With the conclusion of that dance, the party ended for me. I took off my tie and I awaited the end of the celebration with Kathy and my three brothers-in-law, who would one day have to experience the weddings of the their daughters.