The Love Weekend
Well, it's been quite a ride these past couple days. So much so that it took a senior American prelate to remind me that there's still a Seminary Visitation on.
And yes, I needed the reminding.
Everywhere I went, there was just a lot of love in the room this weekend -- that usually happens but, gratefully, it had nothing to do with seminaries and those who inhabit or once inhabited them. For once.
Allow me to explain.
We had a family wedding Friday night. These are pretty routine as I have 35 first cousins (who range in age from 45 to 15) and something's always happening.
This one was in our family's Baptist branch. My mom is one of seven, and her lone brother left Catholicism in his mid-30s and became a wildly conservative, but wonderfully effective, Evangelical preacher. By any measure, his is a successful, blessed ministry, and he's done much good work, evidenced by the invites he gets to preach around the country. (Not many Italians are looked upon favorably at Bob Jones -- our kind are usually too dark-skinned for their tastes -- but leave it to my family to have one who is.) Yes, his church has tracts on its shelves alleging that Paul VI and John Paul I were Masons, but we have Trads (allegedly) within our own walls who spew similar poison, and at a much louder clip.
In emulation of his parents, my pastor-uncle had eight kids. But the gender equation was flipped -- six boys, two girls. They've all been married off at 20 or 21 to the children of other congregants. But this one was unusual in that my cousin who jumped the broom on Friday (no, they don't actually do that; close, but it's just an idiom here) actually is in love and has chemistry -- *GASP* -- with his wife.... Hallelujah! The other unions, honestly, seem to have been (badly) arranged, and it got to the point that I started boycotting the ceremonies because I get squeamish anytime when, in the Year of the Lord 2005, the possibility exists that a dowry has been offered anywhere outside the Third World, and especially in the River Wards of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
So, except for the song at the service about how "At some time in his life, a Godly man will need a Godly wife" (when I almost hit the floor), it was beautiful and very sweet; they even had the ritual cake-feeding, which is an innovation for that branch of the family. It was a wonderfully proud moment, and always a treat to catch up with all the cousins -- well, almost all -- because we rarely get to gather in one place at the same time.
After a late night -- the Baptist weddings forbid alcohol and dancing, so we Catholics reconvene and binge up afterward, because God told us to -- it was off to my beloved alma mater on Saturday for Homecoming. And, even though I'm not far from the U. and still head back fairly often, it was an extremely emotional day, with goregous weather to boot.
The life of a writer can often be lonely, as it's just you, God and the computer most of the time, with the odd phone call. When your friends have moved elsewhere and exist at this point mostly over the phone, e.mail, or a rare weekend night when everyone can get their schedules together and make a trip, it's just so nice to see everyone without having to deal with exploding Blackberries. (I will never own one of those things -- they are The Devil.)
Hanging around on a goregous Saturday afternoon, I felt like I never left the old grounds, and at one point, while strolling down Locust Walk with a couple of my classmates who came in for the festivities, I almost started tearing up. There is something to being reminded of the place and people to which you belong.
And as for the game, well, with the Quakers down 16-13 in the Third Quarter, after they blew a field goal and an interception in Princeton's Red Zone, I knew it wasn't going to be pretty and left. Hey, I threw my toast on the field, mission accomplished.
Thank God I left -- a bloodbath followed and the Great Satan won, 30-13.
Changing gears, there's been a lot of discussion here the last few days about marriages that fail, questions of worthiness, love, redemption, etc. It hasn't made for fun reading, and it's all way too theoretical for my tastes. What about when marriage works, and why the hell don't we ever acclaim that so much as others like to scream about purported "offenses" to the institution?
As a case in point, my parents mark their 25th Wedding Anniversary tomorrow. And it's just thrilling.
Having been the closest witness of their life together through the years, I can honestly say that I've never seen my Mom and Dad fight. Not once. Their compatibility and senses of faith, family, humor, kindness, balance and self-giving remain at a perfect pitch, and the way they compliment each other and get through the absurdities of life together have given my sister and me a priceless example of what the good relationship is. And the love and confidence they've given us is just beyond comprehension. Others always remark at the closeness which marks the four of us, but for us it's just the way it is -- and we know it's no mean blessing.
You know, I think about this a lot. When your parents are known among their family and friends for having an exemplary marriage, it sets a high bar for their children, which is good so you know to avoid the pitfalls, but it severely limits the talent pool from the outset. And that's the position I'm in. In the social circles in which I travel, sometimes I just look around and shake my head and wonder if all the values Mom and Dad have imbued in us exist anymore anywhere else -- well, aside from the Humanitarianess and the Actress, who are truly two in a million. Extant those gems of the softer sex, I can only hope that self-giving is not an anachronism of generations past, because if it is, then we're all in big trouble.
As the Three Queens can tell you, I'm a picky one, and while I'm not my father (he's much more reserved than his firstborn), there's just something about that perfect fit that makes you seek it for yourself. If I'm going to have my marriage solemnized with a majority of the American hierarchy (and Jimmy Mac. And Malcolm. And a planeload of Romans) in attendance, I can't mess around, right?
I don't know why I keep all this in mind as much as I do. But I guess the fact that I do think about it means that I was raised right. It may be their Silver Anniversary but, through no merit of my own, I've been blessed with parents of the purest gold.
May I be so patient and wise as to imitate them all the days of my life.
-30-
And yes, I needed the reminding.
Everywhere I went, there was just a lot of love in the room this weekend -- that usually happens but, gratefully, it had nothing to do with seminaries and those who inhabit or once inhabited them. For once.
Allow me to explain.
We had a family wedding Friday night. These are pretty routine as I have 35 first cousins (who range in age from 45 to 15) and something's always happening.
This one was in our family's Baptist branch. My mom is one of seven, and her lone brother left Catholicism in his mid-30s and became a wildly conservative, but wonderfully effective, Evangelical preacher. By any measure, his is a successful, blessed ministry, and he's done much good work, evidenced by the invites he gets to preach around the country. (Not many Italians are looked upon favorably at Bob Jones -- our kind are usually too dark-skinned for their tastes -- but leave it to my family to have one who is.) Yes, his church has tracts on its shelves alleging that Paul VI and John Paul I were Masons, but we have Trads (allegedly) within our own walls who spew similar poison, and at a much louder clip.
In emulation of his parents, my pastor-uncle had eight kids. But the gender equation was flipped -- six boys, two girls. They've all been married off at 20 or 21 to the children of other congregants. But this one was unusual in that my cousin who jumped the broom on Friday (no, they don't actually do that; close, but it's just an idiom here) actually is in love and has chemistry -- *GASP* -- with his wife.... Hallelujah! The other unions, honestly, seem to have been (badly) arranged, and it got to the point that I started boycotting the ceremonies because I get squeamish anytime when, in the Year of the Lord 2005, the possibility exists that a dowry has been offered anywhere outside the Third World, and especially in the River Wards of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
So, except for the song at the service about how "At some time in his life, a Godly man will need a Godly wife" (when I almost hit the floor), it was beautiful and very sweet; they even had the ritual cake-feeding, which is an innovation for that branch of the family. It was a wonderfully proud moment, and always a treat to catch up with all the cousins -- well, almost all -- because we rarely get to gather in one place at the same time.
After a late night -- the Baptist weddings forbid alcohol and dancing, so we Catholics reconvene and binge up afterward, because God told us to -- it was off to my beloved alma mater on Saturday for Homecoming. And, even though I'm not far from the U. and still head back fairly often, it was an extremely emotional day, with goregous weather to boot.
The life of a writer can often be lonely, as it's just you, God and the computer most of the time, with the odd phone call. When your friends have moved elsewhere and exist at this point mostly over the phone, e.mail, or a rare weekend night when everyone can get their schedules together and make a trip, it's just so nice to see everyone without having to deal with exploding Blackberries. (I will never own one of those things -- they are The Devil.)
Hanging around on a goregous Saturday afternoon, I felt like I never left the old grounds, and at one point, while strolling down Locust Walk with a couple of my classmates who came in for the festivities, I almost started tearing up. There is something to being reminded of the place and people to which you belong.
And as for the game, well, with the Quakers down 16-13 in the Third Quarter, after they blew a field goal and an interception in Princeton's Red Zone, I knew it wasn't going to be pretty and left. Hey, I threw my toast on the field, mission accomplished.
Thank God I left -- a bloodbath followed and the Great Satan won, 30-13.
Changing gears, there's been a lot of discussion here the last few days about marriages that fail, questions of worthiness, love, redemption, etc. It hasn't made for fun reading, and it's all way too theoretical for my tastes. What about when marriage works, and why the hell don't we ever acclaim that so much as others like to scream about purported "offenses" to the institution?
As a case in point, my parents mark their 25th Wedding Anniversary tomorrow. And it's just thrilling.
Having been the closest witness of their life together through the years, I can honestly say that I've never seen my Mom and Dad fight. Not once. Their compatibility and senses of faith, family, humor, kindness, balance and self-giving remain at a perfect pitch, and the way they compliment each other and get through the absurdities of life together have given my sister and me a priceless example of what the good relationship is. And the love and confidence they've given us is just beyond comprehension. Others always remark at the closeness which marks the four of us, but for us it's just the way it is -- and we know it's no mean blessing.
You know, I think about this a lot. When your parents are known among their family and friends for having an exemplary marriage, it sets a high bar for their children, which is good so you know to avoid the pitfalls, but it severely limits the talent pool from the outset. And that's the position I'm in. In the social circles in which I travel, sometimes I just look around and shake my head and wonder if all the values Mom and Dad have imbued in us exist anymore anywhere else -- well, aside from the Humanitarianess and the Actress, who are truly two in a million. Extant those gems of the softer sex, I can only hope that self-giving is not an anachronism of generations past, because if it is, then we're all in big trouble.
As the Three Queens can tell you, I'm a picky one, and while I'm not my father (he's much more reserved than his firstborn), there's just something about that perfect fit that makes you seek it for yourself. If I'm going to have my marriage solemnized with a majority of the American hierarchy (and Jimmy Mac. And Malcolm. And a planeload of Romans) in attendance, I can't mess around, right?
I don't know why I keep all this in mind as much as I do. But I guess the fact that I do think about it means that I was raised right. It may be their Silver Anniversary but, through no merit of my own, I've been blessed with parents of the purest gold.
May I be so patient and wise as to imitate them all the days of my life.
-30-
posted by Rocco Palmo at 20:46
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