It was twenty-two years ago yesterday.
I woke up in a room I was sharing with my brother at the New Brunswick Hilton (actually in East Brunswick), and I didn't want to eat (that might have been the last time that particular fact was true). But we went to the hotel's brunch, which I'm sure cost my brother a small fortune, and I might have had a bagel or something.
Not long after noon, I got into the suit I'd bought for the occasion (also something of a rarity since), and I remember being irritated as my brother tried valiantly to pin a boutonniere onto my jacket. There might even be a picture of him trying to pin it on, and me looking irritated. Why I didn't just take off the jacket and let him take care of it puzzles me to this day.
We got into my car, which I think was still the 1984 Renault Alliance that was my first new car, and drove from the Hyatt to the Wood Lawn mansion (home of the Eagleton Institute of Politics) on the Douglass College campus of Rutgers University, maybe a two-mile drive. I don't remember anything about it.
We met Jessica at the mansion, but she was getting all fixed up, and I think I actually did pass by while she was getting her hair together, but we're not superstitious.
Right around three, I took her hand and we walked out of the building onto the back lawn. Jess was wearing a while lacy number with a huge bow on the back that made her look like the best present a man could ever receive, which was true. We stood near a tree, but the sun--which had decided at noon to make its first appearance in a week--was right in my eyes, so all the pictures have me looking like a slightly more Jewish Popeye the Sailor.
We stood under a prayer shawl (a talles for you Gentiles), held up by our tallest friends, including my best buddy Jeff Pollitzer, with whom my son Josh and I will see the new Star Trek movie the end of next week. But I digress.
A very impressive rabbi named Andre Unger, who had been forced to leave South Africa due to his anti-Apartheid statements, presided, and I remember being very impressed, and now wish we'd had a video camera going the whole time. But it was 1987, and video cameras were still a new idea for we common folk. A pity.
He asked me a very long question, and then paused. I thought there was going to be more of the question, so I waited, and got an unintentional laugh from the crowd of relatives and friends. Finally, I realized what he was asking.
"I do," I told him.
He asked Jess the question next, but she'd heard it already, so she knew when to answer.
"Yes," she said.
I stepped (intentionally) on a glass that had been wrapped in a napkin, and the crowd applauded, as if they'd thought I couldn't smash a glass with my foot. I resisted the urge to bow.
We ate a lovely dinner, which I don't remember at all, and danced (definitely my last time at that, although my daughter insists that when/if she marries, I'll do so again) into the evening, when Jess and I hopped into the Alliance and headed for a hotel (the one "with the wishing well" noted in a vintage song), where we spent all of one night--we had friends in from out of town.
And then 22 years went by. How the hell did THAT happen?
Happy anniversary, Jessica. Thanks for marrying me.
