That time between high school and college was my last
carefree summer.
What happened? Not much. A lot. I should have worked, but I was a little pissed at not been given my choice lifeguard placement at the beach near my house. Most others on staff were, Garry at the Schumacher Pool for instance, so too Jodie at the Mattagami River, etc. I just couldn't abide spending the summer working at the Archie Dillon Sportsplex, where one never knew what the weather might be while in its humid and claustrophobic expanse. Unless there was a torrential downpour, that is.
ButI digress. This post is about a wedding. My sister's, specifically.
Karen was getting married and I’d been allowed to invite friends
to her wedding. Not to the meal, but to the ceremony and the dance. So, I
invited the lot. Why not? Suits, ties, and the Dante Club. And I was an usher.
One of two times. Never a best man. I’m still baffled by that. I’d had a lot of
friends then, and I was always left wondering why I wasn't asked to tuxedo up. As to being best man? There were a few times whan I wondered why I hadn’t been chosen. There can only be one, I suppose. I can only guess that I was passed over as a kindness; I was somewhat shy, not much of a public speaker then, either. Also, a great many of us had begun to drift apart and had also relocated when those nuptials were finally embarked upon. No matter.
That
summer, I was chosen to be one of my future ex-brother-in-law’s ushers. It was an obligation, I imagine.
Powder blue tux.
Sylvie Aube, Marc's cousin, on my arm. She was pretty, and I may have fallen in love with her a
bit at the time. Pretty girl, friends, cousins, a few drinks and a lot of
dancing. What more could one ask for?
