Ring man

photo courtesy Uncle Stephen
Originally uploaded by Maynor.

M bore the rings when his Uncle Stephen and Aunt Nealy wed this July in the sunny climes of Carmel Valley, California. B was the official wedding baby. His job was to look cute and snuggle up to people who could get us USGA Senior Open tickets. Both boys did stellar work.

In April, M and I went to Gengis Formal wear in the mall to be measured for our tuxes--I'm a 39 long and he's a T3. T stands for Toddler. M was polite to the young woman that helped us, and after watching her stretch her measuring tape all over me (M loves measuring tapes), he stood right up with his arms outstretched, waiting his turn. He tried on a T3 right there in the shop, and it fit crisply. He loved his "'Xedo 'oat" (he tends to leave the first sounds off words), and for the first time, started getting excited about "Unka Steben's 'edding."

Three months later, we were in Carmel and I was picking up tuxes with the other groomsmen. M desperately needed a nap, so he didn't get to see his mini-tuxedo until I brought it back to the inn later. We had been measured correctly for the most part--everything looked sharp--except that M's coat sleeves were long enough to fit an orangutan. A few safety pins borrowed from Nana, a well-prepared traveler, saved the day. Back at the shop, though, Nana's safety pins couldn't have saved Brent the Minister. His tuxedo looked exactly like the groomsmen's tuxedos, and we couldn't have that. We knew Nana wouldn't have enough safety pins to construct a giant cross on the breast of his tuxedo, so what to do to set him apart? What to do?

I think it was Groomsman Joe that spied the sharp-looking, long-coated, rock-star-minister mannequin next to the cash register.

"That's the look we're seeking!" someone said, and the mannequin was naked within half a minute. He happened to be just Brent's size.

Back at the inn, we fixed M's orangutan sleeves, hung the tuxes up for tomorrow, and headed off to Holman Ranch for the rehearsal. The wedding was to be held out-of-doors, in a meadow overlooking Carmel Valley and the mountains beyond. A hundred-twenty rustic wood chairs and benches had been set up facing a stunning view, and we all practiced solemnly walking down the middle aisle toward the clearing where Brent the Minister would do the job. Bookending the solemn practice, we laughed and took pictures and played with B while M ran around and played in the grass, dug in the dirt, and chirped at the cages of birds on the edge of the field.

M practiced walking, but was a little nervous on his own, so we decided that he would walk with his mommy, a bridesmaid, down the aisle.

The day of the wedding, however, M's courage was up. We put on our tuxes and drove the few blocks over to the Fireside Inn, where the groomsmen, minister, and groom were waiting for the stretch Lincoln Towncar to drive us to the ranch. As we piled in the limo, Best Man Gerson, just that very moment arriving from Minnesota, drove up honking and waving and hopped in the Lincoln. Groomsman Joe, of course, had picked up Best Man Gerson's tux, and we prayed it would fit (it did).

When we stopped on the way out of town so that the South-Carolinian-in-laws-to-be could grab some celebratory brews for the ride, a little girl peeked in the open door and stared at the eight men in their tuxedos (and Best Man Gerson), flanking a rock-star-minister in his special fancy tuxedo.

"Who are you?" she asked, wide-eyed.
"We're famous," replied Brent the Minister.
"Aaah," she said, and then turned back to her family on the sidewalk, "Daddy, they're famous! They're famous!"

M didn't say a word on the ride out, he just soaked in the strangeness of it all. He didn't say much, either, when the photographer took all the wedding-party pictures at the ranch. But he stood like a little man, with his hand in his pocket, watching his daddy and uncle and new groomsman buddies for cues on how to stand and what to do. When pictures were finished, M picked up his ring pillow and I asked him if he wanted to practice.

"'Es!"

So before the guests arrived on the chartered bus, M and I practiced. He decided he wanted to walk alone, and so I left him at the back of the little meadow and did my wedding party walk up to the front. He stood perfectly still until I gave him a subtle underhand signal to come. He strode slowly down the aisle holding his pillow out in front of him, a gleam in his eyes. When he arrived at the front, he stood next to me, and we took a look at his stuffed Tiger, awaiting him on the front row (where Nana would be). We practiced again. And again. Six times we practiced, and then the guests started to arrive and we left to check out the Miss Pacman table in the groomsman room.

B, meanwhile, was looking spiffy in his crisp white onesie and new shoes, and was charming the hippy babysitter lady across the hall from the groom room.

Jennifer the Wedding Coordinator came to get us before we knew it. We all scrambled back into our coats and walked across the parking lot, through the trees, and to the back of the meadow. M clutched his pillow, and I held his hand as we stood in line. The bridesmaids had not come through the trees yet, so I knew there would be a few seconds that M would have to stand alone with Jennifer the Wedding Coordinator before Susan arrived. I explained that all to him, and as the men in front of me started to walk forward, I tried to hand him off to J the WC. He wasn't happy about it, but I gave a quick pep talk (I felt like I was my junior high basketball coach grabbing the pointguard by the shoulders with seven seconds left on the clock) and left him. I ran up and jumped in my place in the groomsman line, just as it reached the back of the chairs.

M was not happy. Maybe it was the 120 people in their rustic wood chairs that had been empty when we practiced, maybe it was the sudden sense of nervous excitement that was evident in all the men and women scurrying around him at the back of the meadow, maybe it was that those shiny vinyl mini-tux shoes were started to chaffe.

In any case, he calmed down when Susan came around the big tree, but no longer wanted to walk by himself. That was fine--Susan held his hand and they started walking toward the back of the chairs.

It was peaceful and solemn as the first few bridesmaids walked down the aisle. After a short musical intro, the jazz band had fallen silent and the groomsmen and bridesmaids walked through the meadow to the gentle sound of the breeze blowing through the valley and a hawk flying overhead. Up front by now, I could hear the bridesmaids' shoes swishing through the grass and the whispered oohs and ahs from the guests.

About the time that the third bridesmaid took her place up front, M and Susan arrived at the back of the chairs, both stunning in their formalwear. The hawk had flown away by now, and the only sounds were the breeze and the guests' turning in their chairs to see the next bridesmaid and her little boy.

As they reached the back of the aisle, though, M's excited tension caught up with him again and he fell back on familiar soil, as it were. The gentle little boy in his mini-tuxedo stopped in his tracks and handed his embroidered ring pillow to his mommy.

"'Ass!" he cried out, and at least in my memory, small flocks of birds were disturbed from their trees all across the valley.

He doubled over at the waist and pulled out tufts and tufts of grass from the ground, tossing them backwards as if he'd never been outside before in his life.

From the wedding coordinator's point of view, he probably looked like one of those plywood garden sculptures with just a bottom sticking up in the air.

From our point of view, he just looked like our little boy, a sometimes serious, sometimes goofy little man who's trying to figure out the world. A little boy who can take just so much attention and pressure before he needs to stop and play in the grass.

After a second, he stood up and held his mommy's hand, smiled at Daddy and Uncle Stephen and all the other groomsmen up front, and walked confidently down the aisle. Throughout the service, he sat up straight with Tiger and held Nana's hand, and when it was time for him to recede back through all the people, he did it with a swagger, and all by himself.

Then he went to find some dirt.


(B, by the way, helped score Nana some Senior Open tickets, and she shared.)