I’ve been thinking very hard about this next post for two weeks now. I’ve mentally tried out various combinations of words and expressions, and have come up short every time. How could I possibly express in words what this day was like?
If you’ve been following along you’ll know that a couple weekends ago I went with my parents and sisters to San Francisco for my cousin’s wedding. My parents were delighted to have an opportunity to go back to the church where they were married. The little apartment underneath the belfry of the church was their first home together, and the place where my two sisters spent the first four or five years of their lives. My sisters and I were caught up in their excitement about this trip down memory lane and were all too glad to accompany them. We thought we would just go to the church and take some pictures in front of it, but my dad announced that we would be going to the service there on Sunday. We grumbled a little amongst ourselves, but as it turned out, it was the highlight of an ineffably beautiful weekend for all of us.
During the cab ride my normally taciturn dad regaled the bored, but polite driver with the nature of our pilgrimage. Here are my parents, having just gotten out of the cab:
Here they are, just seconds later. In his excitement, my dad leaped and bounded up the stairs like a gazelle. “Ummm, Dad? Don’t forget about Mom, the woman you’re sharing this beautiful experience with…”:
He started gladhanding the slightly overwhelmed ushers and telling them all about how he and my mom had gotten married here and had lived here almost 50 years ago. He was positively beaming.
To fully appreciate this moment, you have to know that we sometimes refer to my dad (AFFECTIONATELY) as the Easter Island Head, because of his impassive demeanor and reticent nature.
Here he is in his natural state:
Here he is about to break out into a smile:
And here he is with a rare, full-on grin:
After the service we met the minister: