Yeah, it doesn’t ever get less weird.
Watching one of your parents get married is just one of those things for which there is no comparable life experience. It’s sort of like being an adult at your own birth. No, that’s not it. Like I said, there’s no comparable life experience. It’s nice and joyful and touching, but definitely a little weird each time.
My first parent wedding occurred in 1992, when I was in high school and my dad married my now-ex stepmother Brenda. It was just a tiny ceremony with about seven of us family members there, and I was my Dad’s best man. My parents had been divorced for a few years, but still, watching your father say “I Do” to another woman shook me visibly that day. I loved his new wife and was happy to have stepsisters, but it was just a really odd thing, to see your father as just another groom, not the other half of your Mom and Dad.
My second parent wedding happened just last summer, when my father re-married. This time it felt a little less weird, and there was a big party with all their friends afterward, so it felt almost like a normal wedding that I was a guest at.
Last night was different, though; my Mom got married. She’s been with Arny for 17 years, and they’re truly a perfectly matched couple. I never thought they’d get married, because both of them were perfectly happy with the way their relationship was, living together and basically being “married” already.
Interestingly, it was at my father’s wedding last summer that my mom said she got the idea to marry Arny (Yes, you read that right: My mother was a guest at her divorced husband’s wedding. I have a bit of an unusual family).
Anyway, it was a lovely little ceremony at my new step-brother’s house, with just 15 of us there, and then we all went out to eat. As I watched my Mom and Arny read each other beautiful vows, I got to thinking how perfectly normal it seemed. There was a beaming bride, a happy groom, and family around to watch.
I love weddings as much as anyone I know. I love the dancing, I love the eating, and I love the pure joy that it brings to so many people.
So there you go, one more positive of my parents’ divorce: I got to go to three more weddings in my life.
**I think this story pretty much speaks for itself. A dachsund named Boniface is being taught by his owner in Moscow how to scuba dive. Yeah, that’s really the dog in the wetsuit with the box over his head.
I don’t know if this is brilliant or cruel. Could a dog really learn to scuba dive? And wouldn’t this shame all men and women who weren’t good at this activity? “Well, if a dog could do it, Harold, you sure can!”
I do know that I wouldn’t want to be the fish that meets up with a dachsund underwater; the dog’s probably going to be mighty ticked once he gets that damn headgear off.