My family and I were privileged to go to a wedding this last weekend of a dear friend's daughter. We were FRIGGIN' lucky enough to be invited to go to the wedding in Newport Beach, California. Anything to get out of a Phoenix summer. But this was a good one. Really good. Newport was where the bride and groom met, fell in love, and wanted to get married. It was beautiful, overlooking a golf course and in the distance, the ocean. The temperature was worth a jacket at night and the world for both families was something they should remember forever.
There are rules, however.
There is decorum.
My friend, whom, by the way, graciously stood out of the way and allowed his wife and daughter to run like muskrats in a forest fire and plan this beautiful event, knew these rules and followed them to the letter. Let's review some of them now for those of you planning a wedding in the future:
Never, dress nicer than the bride. The bride is the focus. The Father of the Bride-(FOB), however, is the modern day equivalent of a Greek God at his daughter's wedding. He should be admired and honored with bows, pats on the back, and revelry. The Mother of the Bride should be the second prettiest woman there. Followed closely by the Mother of the Groom. The Father of the Groom is parking cars. He really has no role except as arm candy for the Mother of the Groom. He should shower and wear nice clothes.
The food should be hot and cold when appropriate. A concern should arise if one is eating sushi, for example, and it is warm. This was not the case at the wedding we attended.
Music should be loud, especially at a venue like this where it was in the garden portion of the hotel. Hey, if I have to stay up, everyone should have to stay up.
Restrooms should be easily accessible. This was a little bit of a hassle because the nearest restrooms were next to the pool so women in formal dresses were in the same area as Russian factory workers here on vacation sporting their new swimsuits. It was fine, friendships were formed. For the men, the gazebo provided cover for a quick stop and release behind the bushes into the neighboring golf course. As long as you were with the FOB, this is perfectly legal and accepted, remember, he is a Greek God.
But, the most important part of these types of events is the explanation of proper drinking to young men. Women just drink the free champagne or things with umbrellas. But men, young men, boys who have been shaving for less than a month and having just passed their 21st birthday and wanting to swill the excellence of manhood, look to the old ones and watch their lead. A lot of men travel the wrong path, taking the young bucks with them. They talk about the elixir of the gods from the motherland in a hap-hazard way. I'm talking about scotch. The stuff legends are made of and treaties are signed by. But the American male has bastardized the sanctity of the drink by, how can I say this, 'blending' the elixir with something less than pure love.
You see, there is something about this drink in its pure form-single malt, that can never be avoided or minimized. It comes from the highlands of the motherland, Scotland. Home of God, Country, hairy backs, strong backs, and lovers of the faith. A good day for a Scot is a day with his family after a delightful bar fight over the last piece of haggis. I had the honor of assisting the FOB in the discovery of this drink and then educate the groomsmen who were wanting to touch a piece of history. It was a passing of a torch, although there is NO WAY I would give them this torch. Its mine, they have to get their own. But we had a bottle purchased so I didn't have to go to my own stock. The boys listened and watched as the proper drinking and icing of the glass, even the proper glassing itself, was explained to them. Some took notes and asked questons. My son-in-law was there. He had gone through this lesson before. But the young bucks watched the old Silverbacks as I and the FOB explained the law of the pack.
With the sipping of the nectar, they were told the following rules, swearing an oath to never break them:
But, the most important part of these types of events is the explanation of proper drinking to young men. Women just drink the free champagne or things with umbrellas. But men, young men, boys who have been shaving for less than a month and having just passed their 21st birthday and wanting to swill the excellence of manhood, look to the old ones and watch their lead. A lot of men travel the wrong path, taking the young bucks with them. They talk about the elixir of the gods from the motherland in a hap-hazard way. I'm talking about scotch. The stuff legends are made of and treaties are signed by. But the American male has bastardized the sanctity of the drink by, how can I say this, 'blending' the elixir with something less than pure love.
You see, there is something about this drink in its pure form-single malt, that can never be avoided or minimized. It comes from the highlands of the motherland, Scotland. Home of God, Country, hairy backs, strong backs, and lovers of the faith. A good day for a Scot is a day with his family after a delightful bar fight over the last piece of haggis. I had the honor of assisting the FOB in the discovery of this drink and then educate the groomsmen who were wanting to touch a piece of history. It was a passing of a torch, although there is NO WAY I would give them this torch. Its mine, they have to get their own. But we had a bottle purchased so I didn't have to go to my own stock. The boys listened and watched as the proper drinking and icing of the glass, even the proper glassing itself, was explained to them. Some took notes and asked questons. My son-in-law was there. He had gone through this lesson before. But the young bucks watched the old Silverbacks as I and the FOB explained the law of the pack.
With the sipping of the nectar, they were told the following rules, swearing an oath to never break them:
Always love God, always let your wife know she is second-to God, that way she knows you trust someone higher than her; never beat your wife, we don't live in the Middle-East or parts of Atlantic City. Men don't fight their wives, hair loss and odd smells but never their wives; and never-----EVER----drink 'blended' Scotch whiskey---ever. That's it. The three rules- Loving God, no hitting, and no blended Scotch.
So if you are growing young boys, soon to be young men, remember these rules. This is the properness of manhood, the foundation for guts and glory. Treaties exist and peace reigns because men choose this course.
So if you are growing young boys, soon to be young men, remember these rules. This is the properness of manhood, the foundation for guts and glory. Treaties exist and peace reigns because men choose this course.
Ahhhhhhh. I like mine neat, thank you.
you are so wise Mark!
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