I married my sister, and I highly recommend that others do the same—and not just because of the jokes one gets to make about the subject.
I had the recent honor of being asked by my sister and her then-fianc? to officiate at their upcoming wedding. I can't say precisely what motivated them to make such a request of someone with a mortal fear of public speaking and the stage presence of Timothy Geithner, but so flattered was I by the offer that I accepted before they could renege.
I think she got the idea from a friend of ours whose best friend officiated at his wedding—or maybe it was simply because it's a trend growing in popularity among couples seeking the added intimacy of friends or family members presiding over wedding ceremonies. (Perhaps they knew that, at a minimum, the service would come cheaply, a boon considering the astronomical cost of even a modest wedding.)
Whatever the reason, it was a wonderful opportunity for me to take an active role in giving my blessing to their union—and probably my only opportunity. The groom's four brothers made for an already full legion of groomsmen, and the couple had asked their two closest friends to speak and another to sing during the ceremony, which they wished to be brief. That could have left me riding the chairs in the audience (not that that would have been undesirable).
Instead, they asked that I take a central role in the big day—something I was overjoyed to do for my big sister, whom I love very much.
Thankfully, the request came several months in advance, giving me time to steel my nerves for the matrimonial moment of truth. But the closer the wedding came, the more I grasped that there was little to be nervous about; that it truly wasn't about me.
Yes, I wanted to set the sort of tone they asked for (equal parts traditional and lighthearted). And, no, I didn't want it to resemble a Geithner press conference. But I wasn't hosting the Oscars, either.
It's not about me, I kept telling myself. Years later, what I wanted people to remember were the couple's vows, the bride's handmade dress (designed by a dressmaker friend). I wanted them to recall the sound of the drizzle on the tent, the knots in their throats—not some longwinded dissertation on love by the bride's pipsqueak brother.
Moreover, it was a statement in itself that the bride had asked one of her siblings to preside over her wedding. Particularly for two nonreligious families, for whom having a true person of the cloth perform the wedding would have held no deep significance, the gesture held meaning beyond my words alone.
It meant something that the couple asked a person from their inner circle, and that I thought enough of them to oblige. But also, knowing the couple, I was able to say, I hope, one or two things about them that rang true. "Speaking as Claire's brother," I told the guests on a warm, drizzly day this past June, "I think the quickest and most direct way to her heart is through laughter. And that's one way that Alex has become so close to Claire's heart, and has brought them to where they stand before you today."
As long as I didn't fumble my words too badly or accidentally pronounce them husband and wife before they'd exchanged vows and rings and smooched, I figured I'd be OK. The ring-bearer had more to worry about.
What everybody told me was, "Go from the heart. You don't need to do anything fancy." There isn't much you can say that is more powerful than the act of marriage, or the vow, in Alex's case, never to make Claire watch another episode of Cops against her will. No need at all to gild the lily. Long before I uttered, "We are gathered here today…" our dearly beloved were choking back tears for the handsome couple and their bright future.
How could my words set the mood more effectively than a warm, heavy drizzle thumping the tent? Or the first notes of "Here Comes the Bride"? Or the audience's first glimpse of the couple?
I came to see it more as a toast than anything. Brief and well-considered, the ceremony kept its focus solely on the lovebirds on either side of me. I was requesting the guests' attention for just a moment for them to join me in some way, however small, to appreciate something immense.
It was a never-to-be-forgotten day for the brother of the bride.
