A wedding portait

I loved this story so much, I retyped it again just for you guys to read - it's taken from a bridal magazine, told from a groom's side. For maximum tear-jerker effect, go HERE wait till it's fully loaded and you've got the perfect background music to this article. Enjoy :)

Like many betrothed couples, my fiancee, Rachel and I got completely wrapped up in the wedding-planning process during our nine-month engagement. We debated everything, and there were moments when we were convinced the napkin colour would make or break the whole celebration. The choice we struggled with most was where to hold the event. We are not the greatest decision makers – it took us eight months to choose a china pattern – but we were both sure of one thing : We wanted to have an outdoor wedding in a quaint New England setting. Another big decision – choosing who would officiate- was such a no-brainer that I took its importance forgranted. You see, my father is a rabbi. Growing up, weddings and funerals were to me what childbirth was to a Huxtable; just another day at the office. As with any parent’s profession, it comes with its own drawbacks and perks. However, not being able to snooze during a sermon was a small price to pay for having a father who could perform my wedding ceremony. Friends expressed envy over my parental lottery, but I hardly gave the notion a second thought. Who has time for sentiment when there are chicken dishes to ponder?

The morning of my big day, tensions soared due to early rain showers and tardy hairdressers. As the wedding party lined up for the processional, all of our worries and excitement came to a crescendo. But when Rachel and I arrived to face my father under the huppa, all of our stresses disappeared. Just like that, I was transported to the backseat of my family’s ’78 Chevy with no worries about how we would reach our destination – Dad was at the wheel, cool as a cucumber, tossing me knowing glances. As my father welcomed everyone, the sun shone and he instantly transformed an event on a synagogue patio into an intimate outdoor New England wedding.

He intertwined traditional wedding blessings with personal stories of how I was always “the life of the party”, even at an early age; he captured Rachel’s essence when describing her ability to bring a smile to the face of even the crankiest of her younger cousins. He fought back tears recounting how Rachel and I had met at camp twelve years earlier, and then he lost the fight as he passed on my grandmother’s wish for a happy life together. Here was the man who has run alongside me, holding onto the banana seat, as I learned to ride my first bicycle. And just as he has then, he let go and sent me off with the encouragement and love that only a parent can. The literal translation of the Hebrew word rabbi is “teacher.” My father has always been my teacher, and that day his lesson was clear: Weddings are about love and family. When those elements are present, everything else just falls into place.