I’m helping to plan a wedding. It’s not for me. I already have a wife. It’s for my son and his fiancé, who is from Boston of all places. I was skeptical about their engagement for a long time because I didn’t believe it was possible to love someone who didn’t fervently hate the Patriots. She proved me wrong, though.
My wife is also helping. As my apprentice. She’s doing a terrific job and is taking on a lot of important responsibilities. For example, when the kids asked if they should have a “themed” wedding and I suggested Dora the Explorer, she insisted on fleshing out the rest of the details without any more input from me. Hurrah!
We’re both looking forward to meeting the in-laws, who still live in Boston of all places. It’s going to be exciting to combine all our diverse beliefs and traditions into a master list of highly controversial and opposing mandates for the wedding. If her family wants the ceremony to be performed inside a church, for instance, we will insist it’s pet-friendly and includes a smoking section. Or, if they prefer the outdoors, we’ll require everyone to wear a plush felt sombrero and a life jacket. The point is to make these next few months the most miserable period the kids ever spend together.
This is just good parenting.
Sure, it might not be obvious to them now, but some day down the road when they’re facing their first MAJOR disagreement about how much air it takes to legally inflate a football, say, they’ll be glad they learned how to survive tough times together and didn’t run off to get married at a cheap kiosk in Vegas.
And to future them I’ll say, “Here’s your bill.”
Originally posted on Medium.
Eating My Way to the Top 