When in doubt, carry a drum.... I've looked forward to AND dreaded this moment for years. Really, I have to walk my darling daughter down the aisle of my church, with a hundred people staring directly at us, wanting to see if we cry?
I confess. I cry. I can tear up at the thought of either of my children and how lucky I am to be their father. I can get blurry eyed during TV ads (especially if there's musical enhancement), I weep at the end of 68.3% of all Detroit Lion games...
I choose to believe this is not a sign of weakness, but rather a healthy reaction by one who feels things at a deep level, and lacks wisdom when choosing football teams to root for.
So it was just one week ago I made the 120' trek to give away my daughter. Thankfully, I think we give a bit of our children away in steps, beginning with sharing our treasures with a preschool a couple mornings per week, and then kindergarten every day, followed by the BIG Middle School, their first sleep over... It's a process.
Nevertheless, one week ago I was asked, "Who gives this woman...?" My reply was predictable, "Her mother and I." It was too late to say "NOT ME!" It would have been awkward, expensive (my suit was already purchased and worn), and would have only temporarily delayed the inevitable. So, with just four simple words, I released my daughter to an amazing young man, whom I hugged with just a multicolored 14" djembe (an African hand drum) between us. This gave me an indication of how it is to hug when you're 8 months pregnant.
One week ago today, and I'm wondering how long it will be before it stops feeling like yesterday. When will the memory of the walk, the witnessing of the vows, and the father/daughter dance cease to put a ridiculously wide smile on my face? My hope is it will be a while.
So, what's up with the drum, you may be wondering? The bride and groom entered the sanctuary to a dramatic version of "Gone, Gone, Gone," by Phillip Phillips. The band could've handled the song just fine without me, but the drum gave me a diversion. Like Steve Martin on the banjo, or Linus with his blanket, the father of the bride needed a pacifier. It worked.
As for my feet, I still have blisters from the "not made for comfort" dress shoes I purchased for the wedding. A small price to pay for a celebration of a lifetime.