"The wedding day loomed close, and suddenly I could not wait to be rid of the witch the bride to be became.  She had always been the most loving, unselfish, calm, sweet tempered, helpful of children, her mother's right arm.  She became Dracula's other daughter."

My Father wrote that about me, twenty five years ago.

"'Don't feel required to wait,' I urged her fiance.  'Feel free to make full use of my extension ladder.  Take her from her room, forcibly if necessary--in fact, fordcibly preferably--go somewhere and have a quiet wedding.  Take up residence with her far away.'
   'I would be glad to,' he said, 'but we're not speaking.' "

My Dad was a journalist, who for forty five years covered U.S. Military affairs and won awards for his investigative work.  Every couple of years, he also fired off an insanely funny article about life as the father of a big family.  No single piece he ever published, not about the Cuban missile crisis or a missing Hydrogen bomb, generated as much fan mail as the one he wrote about Jay's and my wedding, which took place twenty five years ago today. 

It was called "Marry My Daughter? Are You Serious?" and it ran in the January 1982 Reader's Digest.

It was really quite a feat my folks pulled off with that wedding.  Jay and I grew up in the same neighborhood.  We went to the same schools and the same church.  His folks and mine had been friends for twenty years.  His two younger brothers went all through school with my two older brothers.  His Mom taught my Mom to tap dance. His Dad coached my brothers in tee ball, and now that I think of it, Frank Pivec figured annonymously in at least one previous humor piece my Dad wrote.

  Our wedding was the biggest event in parish history.

Naturally, we invited everyone.  Since the reception was at my house and we weren't having a sit down dinner, there seemed to be no reason not to invite everyone.  We sent out three hundred invitations.  The way I remember it, everyone came.  My poor Dad was ready for the loony bin.

"We endured the wettest spring in memeory, and a new storm was lashing us within 36 hours of the festivities.  I worried.  Were we courageous or just crazy to invite crowds of people to a lawn reception in so unsettled a season?  Just in case, should I take my Air Travel Card with me to the church, deliver the bride, then make for the airport and take the first plane to anywhere?  What I hardly ever remember and only finally remembered at the last minute is that when my wife sets her mind on a plan of action, everthing is going to be all right.  I stopped worrying about the weather.  I stopped worrying about everything.
     The weather, -- everything -- was smashing!"

Everything was smashing.  That turned out to be the first gorgeous day of the summer.  The reception party has since become the stuff of neighborhood legend.  We'd set up two bars, one inside and one outside, and now less than five kegs dotted the huge back yard.  Several bug zappers were strategically placed around the property,  and I remember Jay's brother and a friend of mine thought they'd found a little privacy in some bushes.  Everytime a mosquito bit the dust, the zapper flashed blue light and Tom's white tux and Jean's pale blue dress glowed in the dark.  They attracted quite a crowd.  Although Jay and I left the party around midnight (we had an early flight) we were told that some guests stayed for lunch the next day.  In fact, my brothers swore they were still finding revelers asleep in the trees ten days after the event.  It's gotten to the point now where people who didn't even move to town until the mid nineties claim to have been at that reception.  Charles and Diana got married the month after we did and watching the ceremony on tv, one of my brothers said "It's almost as big as your wedding was."

The only reason I even thought about it was that Jay and I drove by my old house this weekend, and there's been another wedding reception there!  A couple who just bought the place got married and moved their blended family in.  I'm glad.  That house stood empty for two years and it needs people, especially kids. 

Ordinarily, Jay and I don't put much stock in anniversaries or birthdays and don't even get me started on how much I hate Valentine's day.  I'm not too crazy about Mother's Day or Father's Day either.  Around here, every day is a celebration and we don't need Hallmark to tell us when to bring each other flowers.  Turns out, that's a really good way to spend twenty five years.

Or forever.