I remember a few things about the guy my sister said she was going to marry. I knew his name and I remember my sister asking to borrow some money from me before the wedding. They were living with her mother temporarily until they got their own place. I’m pretty sure the first time I met him was when I dropped off the money.
The day of the wedding, I remember arriving at the church for the ceremony and a local vocalist was singing and playing the piano. Since I was also an amateur singer, I guess I wondered why I wasn’t also performing but at the same time, I remember feeling a little relieved not to have to sing too. There was sort of an awkward exchange during the wedding party receiving line. When I got to my sister’s new husband, I said something like, “Congratulations, you better be good to her.”
I guess the church rules dictated that they weren’t permitted to have the wedding reception there? I’m not exactly sure but we had to drive to a different location. The reception was held at a small hall located in the basement of a local barbershop of all places. It was a small space and ended up being intimate. Family members were in attendance that I was able to meet in person for the first time and talk with one on one.
Our father was there with his wife and their son. I remember chatting it up with many there. Since my father was not involved in my upbringing, supportive to my mother, or really a father to me, it was always awkward to be in the same space with him. When I was in Junior High School, I was the first one to reach out to him to get to know him.
Someone was taking pictures at the reception and decided that it would be a good idea to take a picture of my father and I with his younger son (my half-brother). I totally forgot about the picture. Many years after the wedding and probably after my sister’s eventual divorce, I was talking with my sister about family and how certain family members look alike. I argued that I didn’t think I looked much like our father. She told me that she would prove me wrong and sent me the picture that is included with this blog. I told her she was right and that I had totally forgotten about that photo! After looking at the picture, I thought I looked more like my father than our younger brother even though we all have different mothers and mine happened to be White. As the old saying goes, “A picture is worth a thousand words”.