I didn’t lift a finger, I didn’t say a word, I danced the chicken dance with my daughter at her wedding and it was the best time of my life.
A whole long bunch of years ago — close to 30ish, but who’s counting? — my daughter was having a wedding in Des Moines, Iowa, and I was living in California. My artistic mom was visiting, so we quickly planned ways to help with a bridal head piece.
Picking up what was supposed to have been white porcelain clay, we made individual flower petals and roses to wire with delicate pearl beads and ribbons.
When the clay was fired, it was not delicate porcelain but more pottery-like heavy, so we then painted the roses, some a glistening soft pink and some a shimmering white pearl. It was beautiful. On my daughter, it could have been hay and sticks and would have looked royal on her.
With leftover clay, mom and I made ladies hats and purse pens for the shower guests and painted them pink and white. We had ordered the bride’s and groom’s names and wedding date on white satin ribbon to tie around little sachets, smell good bags of dried roses. All items were tucked into white craft bags, boxed up and mailed to her dad’s house.
My daughter mysteriously didn’t get them in time for the shower. So, we took the huge basket to the wedding venue and put them on the table in the lobby. They were found in the coat room after the wedding.
I wasn’t fat, but I wasn’t skinny like I used to be. My daughter’s dad had a steady girlfriend he was serious about and we were all assembled prior to the wedding for photography chatting. He told me that she had gone through a serious illness and had lost all but a very small percentage of her body fat. With my quick wit, of course, I told her she could have some of mine. Turning her head, insulted, she informed me she didn’t want my body fat. I don’t think she liked me.
This was the woman who required him to have a dozen roses delivered to her office every week. I never required not one rose ever. I figured if it was required, it didn’t count.
Anyway, we lined up for photos and I’m standing there with camera and lights and my family surrounding me then the photographer, in a very loud voice, tells me to stick out my neck forward to smooth out my double chin. Did I almost die right there! Did I let anyone have the satisfaction of knowing? Oh, you know, I absolutely did not.
We all lined up for the walk down the aisle for the wedding. As the mother of the bride, I looked my best in one of those California bought gowns, navy with pearl and silver beading on the long bodice and long sleeves and a flowing navy layered skirt. Matching navy satin sandals with low heels, hair in an up do. Country girl looked good in big city.
Bridesmaids walked. Then her dad’s lady friend was missing, so he couldn’t walk. Music played. The coordinator was panicking and told me to go ahead and walk even though I was the mother of the bride. I did as told.
Then the missing lady friend appeared to walk in my place, arm and arm with him as “mother of the bride.” Did I show anger or frustration; not on your life. It was my daughter’s wedding and I loved her more than pettiness.
At the reception, there were raised platforms with seating for the bride’s family on one side and the groom’s on the other, with general guests at smaller tables in the middle.
My senior sister claimed a seat beside my mother to assist her during the meal on the raised platform. I took a seat in the middle in front of them with two good guard buddies and one of their wives. I promise, really honestly promise, I wasn’t showing off. I was with my people.
This is how we were, this is how we had been together, brothers in arms, for 10 years. We genuinely loved each other, were glad to see each other, told stories, talked with our hands and tore up the dance floor like no one was watching.
I looked up, and next thing I knew, we were all dancing the chicken dance with my daughter and it was one of the happiest nights of my life.
About a month later, her dad had broken up with that lady. He was left with her photo in wedding pictures, but he ended up marrying the best woman I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.
I ended up marrying my best friend, probably one of the best men in at least a few states. He’s never danced the chicken dance.
I’m just gonna save that for my daughter, and that’s the truth.
