In honor of the day, here’s an update of a post I wrote in 2017 …
Twenty-nine years ago today, a young couple woke up early, full of hope, excitement, nerves, ready to publicly commit to spending their lives together. First, though, they really needed to practice that wedding dance one more time.
Months before, she had borrowed one of those wedding music compilation CDs. He rejected song after song and she began to despair that they would ever find the one. He had an idea though, a less traditional choice; and according to his way, he took the time to plan the unveiling.
On the day, after a week of annoyances at work and life, they sat at their tiny table, empty dinner plates pushed to the side, and talked about their stressful week. “I have something to play for you,” he said, casually, as was his way. His preparations already made, he pulled her gently to the sofa. “Listen,” he said. And as the music began, she laughed. It was The Song. Finally, they could take the next step: learning to foxtrot.
They made extensive preparations. First, they signed up for a ballroom dancing class. She didn’t mind it but he disliked the instructor, who suffered greatly from smugness. Instead, they joined an amateur ballroom dance group associated with the university they had attended. That was pretty good but they wanted more individual attention. He advertised on campus for a dance teacher. A young man contacted them, volunteering to teach them for free because he loved to dance and wanted them to love it, too.
Their teacher was kind and warm, gently guiding, teasing when they got frustrated, laughing with them when they stepped on each others’ toes. The couple practiced every day and met with their teacher once a week for two months, learning quickly and growing in confidence throughout the summer.
As late August, and the wedding date, approached, the groom became more and more nervous. He wasn’t anxious about getting married. The couple loved each other deeply and were confident in their relationship. The groom was worried about the wedding dance. He knew there would be pictures and video capturing that moment. Even worse, though, the bride’s father, who loved to dance but didn’t much care for the groom, would be watching, judging every step.
The wedding day eventually arrived and they dressed for one last early morning practice session. In their empty garage/practice studio, the groom turned on the portable CD player with the tinny speakers and held out his arms. Had this been a Hollywood movie, she would have floated into them and they would have sung beautifully together while spinning and dipping gracefully.
Those stories aren’t real, though, and this tale is. So, that final practice went poorly and the nervous young lovers had a pre-wedding spat. She left to meet her bridesmaids at the hair stylist. He went back into their apartment to get ready.
They met up again at the church, their fight forgotten, and pledged their love in front of family and dear friends. After pictures and a tossed bouquet, the wedding party and guests traveled to the reception, where the bride and groom danced — beautifully or not. Only they really cared.
Thinking about you, my darling husband, and that wonderful, ridiculous dance.
Since we always assumed that we’d both still be here, I’m sure I never said it; but I hope you know, wherever you are, that I will, in fact, still need you, when I’m 64.
Happy Anniversary, my dear.
