Last November was our wedding anniversary. 19 years had passed since we took our vows in front of family, friends, and a substitute rabbi who was filling in for my fiancee’s congregation while they looked for a full-time leader. We thus began our long-term relationship under short-term management, which I recently thought might render the union questionable on legal grounds. But I checked our license over, just to be certain, and it turns out we’re good and married under the law of those bedrocks of civilization: Judaism and the State of Delaware.
So we’ve survived and thrived over these last 19 years, and an anniversary is as good a time as any to celebrate and reflect on the lives we’ve built together. But 19 is a funny number, on the cusp of a major milestone but not the kind of round number that inspires real attention (for proof, go check the Hallmark aisle for the “19th Anniversary” collection of cards…I’ll wait here until you get back). But with the memory of the Great Underwhelming Birthday Gift Disaster of 2010 still top of mind in our house, I realized that a romantic gesture was likely in order. So I came up with an idea that was sure to rekindle the flame and celebrate us.
And now, having survived my mistake, I’ll share one small piece of advice: whatever you do on your anniversary, don’t watch your wedding video.
If you were lucky enough to be married anytime between 1980 and the new millennium, chances are you decided that the posed and carefully constructed photo album was no longer sufficient to document your special occasion. Instead, you found a man in an ill-fitting tuxedo to follow you around for 24 hours and videotape every waking moment of this once-in-a-lifetime day. As an added bonus, he likely brought an array of lighting equipment that left your guests blind and grasping for support. But sight, sound and motion would surely bring everlasting memories and delight you in the years ahead.
On this 19th anniversary, we called for our 13 year-old twins to peel their eyes off of Minecraft and reruns of “Good Luck Charlie” and reluctantly join us in our family room. I found the old videotape in a drawer (helpfully labeled “Wedding 1994″…was there another one I missed?) and dusted it off while ignoring the cries of “what the heck is that?” from our digitally-spoiled children. I wondered for a moment if the old VHS player we had in our a/v component stack would even work, but it turned on with little complaint and eagerly accepted the tape as it whirred to life.
With immediacy, the video’s opening brought one word to mind: cheesy. It’s remarkable to think that the 1994 versions of ourselves were moved by primitive digital renderings of Greek columns glistening as the sun peeks over distant mountains. But this manufactured Harlequin moment was chosen to set the stage for the majesty to come. Yuck.
And then images of my wife and me emerged. On reflection, I can say this now with full confidence and authority: there is no better means to create an air of romance and seduction than to offer video proof of the double-digit weight gain both you and your loved one have enjoyed over the last two decades. This may be further magnified by your sweet children’s proclamations of “You were so thin, Mommy!” and “So that’s what Dad looked like with hair”. It was like intimately sharing a plate of oysters and drinking champagne, assuming the oysters were spoiled and the champagne caused instant bloating.
The fashion didn’t help much. We decided to go formal with the event, which put me and my groomsmen in ridiculous tuxedos with tails that made us look like pimply teenagers in a Merchant-Ivory film. My wife’s dress was timeless and beautiful, but kind of poofy and big enough for her to struggle to walk through doors without shedding sequins.
The entire ceremony was filmed, which was sweet and lovely. Soft music played as the wedding party walked down the aisle. The crowd gasped a little as my beautiful wife-to-be emerged with her parents and met me under the chuppah. That was nice. But the video of the ceremony was LONG, too long to sit through on review (I think they added extra footage for the director’s cut). We chose to fast forward often, only lucky enough to stop at just the second when the camera zooms into my panicked-looking face and captures the moment when I appear to be throwing up in my mouth. “I don’t remember that happening”, I said to my wife, whose eyebrows furrowed while she looked up the listings for divorce attorneys on her iPhone.
And then came the party footage. I used to think that watching my parents on a dance floor was a riot, their limbs and legs flailing about in a manner that drained the word “cool” forever from their biographies. But watching the video of my friends and I grooving to the soul sounds of our wedding band may have scarred me forever. In my memories, I recalled having great rhythm on the dance floor, at least in my youthful abandon. I now have video proof that this was never the case. In fact, it was just the opposite. My wife and I gyrated like sickly mules, all the while passionately mouthing Motown lyrics and hurting small children who ventured into our path. Our horror at watching this corporeal mess was only interrupted by the realization that all of our friends were dancing just as awkwardly, including the one famous professional athlete who attended our wedding, who surely should consider a significant monetary offer for us to burn the evidence of his “talent”.
Eventually the party scene wound down, and the kids stopped laughing at the spectacle of it all. And just as we began to regain our sense of dignity, a mathematical epiphany struck. The video cut to our parents with microphones in hand, thanking the guests and toasting the new bride and groom. “I wonder how old…”, I said out loud before catching myself, but it was too late. I looked at my wife, whose eyes reflected the same realization. 19 years ago, our parents seemed as old in our eyes as the couple in American Gothic. And yet, watching two decades later, we realized that Grandmas Nancy and Kathy were a mere 4 years older than we are now. I looked at our sweet and innocent daughter, imagined her in a bridal gown and shivered.
That was enough. Feeling fat, uncoordinated and closer to irrelevance, we turned the video off, locked our children in their rooms for eternity and raced out the door to dinner to try to rekindle the moment. And thanks to The Whelk’s generous and creative cocktails, all was soon forgotten. We did manage to celebrate our 19 years together and share in each other’s memories and company. And, just as a romantic moment took hold as I gazed into my wife’s tender eyes, she popped the question I had been longing to hear all night:
“Do you think we should transfer the wedding video to DVD?”
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