TheBanyanTree: Wedding Notes

[Monique Colver]

>From Saturday. The day my little (in age only) brother got married.

 

Things I hadn’t considered in the planning process. The bride asked someone
to decorate their car. The traditional wedding car thing. She provided
diagrams of what she wanted the car to look like. DIAGRAMS. Wow. Well, this
is not totally unexpected, seeing as how she’s marrying an engineer, and you
know how THEY are. The people decorating the car decided it wasn’t quite
enough and they filled in some more spots. I’m told it looked very nice. I
never saw it. I was busy, at the time of the car decorating, getting my
father situated. I found a nice place for him to sit where the groom and
groomsmen were getting ready. When said groom and groomsmen started
undressing and getting their tuxes out, I left. Well, I left my dad there,
and I went to see the bride get dressed.

The bride likes me, and has heard many stories of me. I find this alarming.
The bride’s mother said she has heard much of me too, which I find
disturbing. What sort of rumors has my brother been spreading? 

It was an outdoor wedding. For reasons unknown, the weather has been, until
our last day in California, cloudy. CLOUDY. My significant other said he
felt a rain drop while we were sitting and waiting for the ceremony to
begin. I prayed that he was mistaken. Next to him was a heat lamp, one of
those tall things used in outdoor venues to heat the great outdoors. He said
it was too hot. Many people were complaining about the cold, but it wasn’t
cold. Not really. It was not as hot as people in California expect it to be,
but it was not cold. I was not cold. Anyway. Someone fiddled with the heat
lamp because the people next to it were hot. 

It did not rain. I even saw some blue peek through the clouds. 

My uncle was turned away from the restroom. Turned away. He’d managed to get
there, in his walker, his wife by his side, and into the building, and out
into the interior courtyard, and found his seat. He then, when the time for
the ceremony began to draw near, attempted to leave the courtyard area in
search of a restroom. He and his wife made it to the door before being
stopped by an imposing man who spoke quietly to them in hushed tones. We
couldn’t hear what was being said from that distance, but then my uncle and
his walker and his wife turned around and came back. 

They sat down and laughed about how the man had said it’d be over soon and
they could go then. 

My other uncle was there also. He’s the oldest of the three brothers, my
aunt was the oldest of all of them but she’s gone now. He’s also the one who
still golfs regularly. My two uncles have many interests, while their little
brother, my dad, has none. 

I was in charge of the money. The tradition is, during the reception, that
the bride and groom must visit every table, and have a picture taken with
every table, to thank everyone for coming. While visiting each table, they
are given envelopes. With money. Because this is the tradition. And which is
why I’ve decided to be Vietnamese on my wedding day. 

Anyway, once all the envelopes were collected into a former bird cage, it
was my job to guard the money. So it sat there with me throughout the
reception, and while we danced I kept it in my line of sight. There was no
possibility of that money escaping while under my care. Afterwards I was
told I could turn it over to the bride’s brother, but I made him show me
three forms of ID and give a blood sample first. I do not take my
responsibilities lightly. 

Family photos. There’s a picture of the bride and groom with the following:
the groom’s father, the groom’s oldest half-sister, the groom’s second
oldest half-sister, who is not related by blood to the first half-sister but
is a stepsister, the groom’s youngest half-sister (me), who is a half-sister
of the first half-sister and a stepsister to the second, the groom’s oldest
brother, who is related to the second oldest half-sister as a half-brother,
though they grew up thinking they had the same two parents but have only one
same parent, the groom’s next oldest half-brother, who is related to the
groom’s youngest half-sister by virtue of being her younger brother with the
same two parents, the groom’s youngest half-brother (by which I mean the
youngest of the rest of them, not of the groom, who is the baby of the
family and there’s no one younger), who is related by whole measures to the
groom’s oldest half-brother, by half to the groom’s second oldest sister
(previously thought to be whole, but not), and to the rest as a step. I
think that’s all. In short, the groom has three brothers and three sisters.
Some of them he hasn’t seen in 10 years. 

This is not, however, where the confusion ends. Also present at the wedding
were the groom’s two nephews, one of which is 9 months older, the other who
is a few months younger and married with three children. 

My family is not particularly uncomplicated.

After the reception my brothers and sisters raced off to other places, to
parts unknown, back to their respective states, or just home. Andrew and I
packed our car with gifts and one parental unit, delivered the gifts to my
brother’s house, and then delivered my dad to his house. Seems like I’m
always the one showing up in advance to help out or staying afterward.
Whatever. This is why I’m my brother’s favorite.

Whenever someone would ask, “Who are you?” I’d get right to the point. “I’m
the groom’s sister. His favorite sister.” I told the groom that if the other
two sisters had a problem with that, it was too bad. No doubt they think
that because they’re older they have more of a claim, but that’s not true.
I’m the one who contacted the long-losts to tell them to show up to this
wedding, and I’m the one who changed his diapers when he was little, and I’m
the one who gave the bride, at the rehearsal dinner, a little framed picture
on a long semi-gold chain (think locket, but not quite) of my brother when
he was a cute little kid that I’ve had since it was taken, over 30 years
ago. I’ve kept it ever since. 

Andrew helped carry the pig. Perhaps I should explain. There were two
ceremonies. The morning ceremony, which was Vietnamese and took place at the
bride’s mother’s house, and the afternoon. For the morning ceremony, we
showed up outside the mother’s house with our gifts and offerings. Well,
those of us who could be bothered to attend the morning ceremony, which was
two sisters and one brother, the others having come to the conclusion they
had other “obligations” (obligations my ass – they just didn’t want to get
up early). We didn’t bring any of the gifts ourselves, the groom took care
of that. But we all got to carry something. My sister-in-law was carrying a
package that was wrapped like others, and she said it was heavy. Her son,
one of the groom’s nephews, finally switched with her, and that’s when they
found out she was carrying four or five bottles of wine, which was indeed
the heaviest package. Anyway, there was also a whole cooked pig in
attendance, and the pig would be the first to enter the house. Obviously,
someone would need to carry the pig, it being, well, dead and all, and two
people were required for this, one of them being the preparer of said pig,
the other the volunteer Andrew. So as we waited in our procession, just
behind the hedge, the pig sat in its pan and condensation began to form on
its plastic. We were waiting for Kelly to show up with the ring bearer, but
Kelly was running late. As we stood there with our packages and gifts and
the pig, the pig began to leak. Condensation began to drip out, condensation
with contained grease (pigs being rather greasy), and drip dropped onto the
sidewalk. Andrew had to hold the pig at a safe distance to avoid getting pig
grease on his suit. 

There were many pictures taken that morning.

Introductions were made after the ceremony. First, introductions on the
bride’s side. Then, introductions on the groom’s side. When my father got to
me, he had a blank look on his face and he paused, obviously cogitating,
before he managed to spit out my name. Well, at least I had a name. Andrew
was just my fiancé. No name fiancé. That’s okay. He was pretty stressed. He
also had to do some fast talking during the ceremony to get permission for
our family to join their family, and everyone knows my father isn’t the best
at these things. (Who is?)

During the afternoon ceremony there was a slide show. First the bride’s
family, then the groom’s, but I was not present in any of the photos. This
was utterly my fault. They’d asked for pictures. Said they didn’t have any.
Many years ago I went through the family pictures and removed all that I
found with me in them. So they asked for some, and I never sent any. It’s
okay. I know who I am. It was a good slide show, other than that. Funny and
heartwarming all at once. 

The pastor forgot the rings. He pronounced husband and wife, and the best
man whispered to him, “Aren’t you going to do the rings?” So, amidst much
laughter, he redid that part of the ceremony and then let the groom kiss the
bride again. We talked to him afterwards, and he said he was just so excited
about seeing these two get married, who go to his church, that he just
forgot. He’s been seeing them monthly, also, in preparation of this marriage
thing.

Many pictures. Pictures throughout the day. A team of photographers and a
team of videographers. Men in black shirts everywhere, like some sort of top
secret covert operation, but all carrying cameras, recorders, things, a team
of Recorders for Posterity, a troupe of Guys Sometimes in the Way, and like
snipers they perched up above the crowd during the ceremony, and like the
obnoxious ladies with large hats they stood in front of us during the
reception so they could record the momentous events, while blocking our view
of the same. 

I was at the table that also had my two sisters, my dad, my two uncles and
their wives, and my almost husband. One of my brothers had a table for his
family, since he has four kids, a wife, and three of his kids had
husbands/boyfriends. It adds up. Another table was my other brothers and
their wives and kids and assorted nephews and nieces. Several hundred people
were there that day, and we were just a few of many. No one in my family
dances, so Andrew and I and the bride and groom did our best to make up for
that. No one else in my family is any fun. I mean, sure, my uncle in his
walker and my other uncle and my dad can’t really be expected to be dancing,
but everyone else just sat there. That’s just the way they are. We danced.
We danced until I was exhausted. I haven’t had any dance lessons yet, but
I’m learning to twirl and stuff. I also hop a lot because there’s all that
pent up energy that has to escape somehow. 

It was a good wedding. The bride and groom are on their way to Fiji. We’re
on our way home. Next month there’ll be another wedding. Not as many
pictures, but more dancing. It all works out in the end.