On Parents and Progeny

Recently, my father got married again, and in his finite wisdom asked me to be his best man. Thankfully, the speech that goes with such duties didn't go as awfully as I expected it to, and so for those who are interested here is the text of the oration. Hope you enjoy it:

When Dad and I first talked about this speech, I asked him if he wanted to write it himself, to make sure that it wasn’t inappropriate in any way. He blithely assured me that he trusted me, and that I was grown up and sensible enough to write something that wouldn’t embarrass or offend anyone. It was very heartening, that kind of faith. Sure enough, a couple of months later it came up again in conversation, and there was an awkward pause before he said “yeah, about that, I’m gonna need to read that speech before you give it”. Isn’t that touching?

It’s a very strange phenomenon to be asked to be best man at your own father’s wedding. For a lot of people, it’s not really an opportunity they get, and I’ve found that when you tell people that’s what you’re doing they tend to assume there’s one of those Stories, with a capital S. That’s not to say that fulfilling this role doesn’t have its difficulties, but I think people are vastly mistaken as to what those difficulties are. In fact, the primary thing I’ve had to contend with today is being one of the youngest people here, and trying to convince people that I actually know what I’m doing. Maybe the conversation about the speech should have been my first clue.

On the other hand, a child’s perspective can tell you a lot about a person’s life, and give you an insight into their relationships. Children remember very strange things, and even for a mind as addled as mine 3 conversations with my dad stand out to epitomise the journey that has gotten us to here, today.

The first is the first time I ever heard Judy’s name. It was soon after my parents had told me about their divorce, and suffice to say it was not a particularly good time for any of us. My dad came into my room, and sat me down, and told me he wanted to tell me about something. He said that he had met someone, and that he was moving to be closer to her. He wanted to make it clear to me that this was no reflection on me, and that he didn’t love me any less, and all the other clichés that adults heap onto the children in this situation. With hindsight, though, there was something of a role reversal between the two of us. Dad was so worried about reassuring me, so concerned to make sure that I was ok, that he completely missed that I actually didn’t really need reassuring, and when I said I was ok I really meant it. I remember, in fact, that my overriding sensation was that, even at a time of great uncertainty and sadness, there seemed to be a certain happiness in him at the mention of this mystery lady.

The second moment that sticks out for me is the first time I met Judy. I must have only been to see Dad up here a handful of times, but this time, I arrived on the train and instead of going straight home, he took me to the Pizza Express in Darlington. I tell you, it’s a very strange cross-section of society that lunches in Pizza Express in Darlington on a Thursday afternoon. But amongst the pensioners and kids bunking off school and college, there sat a blonde woman alone at a table for four, looking very nervous. As we approached, she looked up and smiled, if a bit hesitantly. This was, of course, the bride herself. They went to kiss each other by way of greeting, before you could see the simultaneous thought flashing through their minds “Oh wait, maybe not in front of the Bill”.

There ensued one of the strangest meals I’ve ever sat through. Two of us were next to non-verbal, with Dad struggling manfully to cover up the cracks in the conversation. In truth, it was no special awkwardness or shyness that stopped me from engaging more with Judy. I’m just awful at small talk, but it is a sad irony of life that those of us who are awful at small talk find it very difficult to try and tell people that we’re awful at it. In fact, overall, aside from a few surface differences, what was remarkable about that lunch was how unremarkable it was. I never really thought about how strange it was or could have been, because Dad and Judy didn’t seem strange put together. It was as though they’d already been together for ages, the way they just fit around each other so well.

There have been many meals spent together in various places since then, with more plentiful conversation, but it is another lunch that is the scene for the last moment I want to share with you today. Dad and Judy came down to where I’m at university, and took me and my girlfriend out to lunch in Windsor, where Dad told me that he had asked her to marry him, and she’d said yes. As ever, he told me this with a slight nervousness in his face, as though he was afraid I was going to burst into angry tears or storm off or something equally dramatic. In fact, and I think somewhat to the surprise of both of them, I leapt up and hugged each of them. They both seemed so excited, so happy, like teenagers telling their parents they’ve found the One at the age of 15. I couldn’t remember ever seeing my Dad so happy, and today I think we all get to share in their joy. It is truly a privilege to be privy to it. To the bride and groom.

Who is that baby in a cravat?