My eldest brother’s words. The manner in which he said it…it just kind of rings true.
My dad married Krystyna, his partner of the last five years, this past weekend. The ceremony was exactly them, held at the Arlington Arts Center, with about 40 of their closest family and friends in attendance. They wrote their own vows. My uncle served as celebrant. It was followed by a champagne toast–during which Krystyna’s deceased husband’s college friends gave them their blessing–and a spectacular dinner at Willow Bar & Restaurant.
Of course, in our rush to pack post-shelf exam Friday afternoon, John and I forgot our camera. So, until I harass the more responsible of the siblings, these will be our blurry snapshot of events.
I can’t believe that it was the first time in 3 years that all the siblings got together, and we didn’t manage one group photo. Pathetic.
What is not pathetic: my almost 70-year-old father’s bachelor party. He drank my husband and brothers under the table. Anna Lynn and I foolishly stayed up until 2:30 Saturday morning for our “better” halves to return safely. John walked in first, saluted us, and marched up the stairs without a word. Several minutes later, Steph (brother 1) came through the front door with an unknown man, each supporting one arm of Eric (brother 2). Anna Lynn and I eventually deduced that unknown dude was, in fact, the taxi driver. I’m not sure what’s worse: 1) my party-animal older brother, the former lead guitarist of metal band Johnnie Psycho (I kid you not), was out-drunk my his father and came home nearly unconscious, supported by two grown men; or 2) my main squeeze, most considerate man on the planet, left said brother in taxi without thought of how other brother would manage bringing him in unassisted. Well played, fellas.