From a Scrub's Standpoint: The Wedding Edition

Our lovely daughter Jessie was looking particularly so last Saturday evening when she married Evan Dykes, the pride of Yankton, South Dakota. For all my adult life, and probably a little more than that, I had congratulated others on the marriage of their daughter, gave them the old pat on the back, and said to them, boy, they sure make an amazing couple. Sure you have too.

But the other night it was our daughter who was getting married. It’s all still a happy blur.

One thing about the personal columns, whether they were written for this website, Huskerland Prep Report, or any of the newspapers I worked for or owned, I like to write them in the moment. For instance for Huskerland or, say, the Central City newspaper we owned for 31 years, that meant writing on deadline, the last thing to go on the page. I did that because it somehow made me feel like that was the end, the period or exclamation point that brought my story to a close.

Today also write on deadline but more for a beautiful story that is just beginning. Love you, Jess. (and you too, Evan, you know I do)

Sitting here composing thoughts my mind races and to be fair to you (and to me) going through every last remembered detail of the day would basically wear us all out. Still, there are some things you need to know...

Penn and I were at the venue at 12 noon for a 5:30 ceremony, so we had lots of time to ease into things, including some great visits with all the members of the wedding party, and Evan’s dad, Brad, and sister and brother-in-law, Tanner. Lots of pictures, lots of memories, a couple of Bud Lights.

The wedding couple had written an agenda for the day’s preparation including a line entry that made me gulp: 2:45, father’s first look, at his daughter in her wedding dress. I knew it was coming and spent a couple of hours trying to be brave.

Didn’t work.

How our super helpful wedding planner arranged it was for me to stand in front of the altar, then told me she would have Jessica Nicole come up behind me and tap me on the shoulder when it was time. That couldn’t have been more than 10 seconds but if felt like a lifetime. Whatever you do, don’t cry, I told myself.

Didn’t work.

She looked lovely and I no more laid eyes on her than I burst into tears. My baby girl - who I’d taught how to ride a bike, how to shoot a basketball poorly and how to make a Colorado Bulldog - was standing in front of me, the most beautiful girl in the world. (Don’t worry Jess, your mother doesn’t read my column very often. :))

I was drained. And we hadn’t even got to the father/daughter dance which is where I thought I would have the most trouble. Why’s that? Well, I decided there was only one song that would work for that dance, and it was Heartland’s I Loved Her First. It is a sweet, sweet ballad, so emotionally charged, about a father’s love for his daughter. I thought to myself, OK it will be rough, but you can get through it.

Jess came over to our house to finalize my decision two Sundays ago, sitting with her mother while I dialed the song up on Youtube. After one chord we were all bawling our eyes out and by the end of the song we were all a mess. Penn said I might want to rethink the song choice, I told her no, that’s the one. Had to be the one.

Fast forward to the Wednesday before the wedding. Jessie wanted a quick run through of the dance and to practice our steps. (This after I’d originally told her to check out the movie Boogie Fever so she knew what I had in mind.) Once again the music started, but this time we held firm, at least for a few notes before Jessie and I made eye contact. After that the tears flowed, we expressed our love for one another and then just held each other up while the song finished.

I told her yes, that’s the one. Had to be the one.

Which brings us to the processional. It had already been an emotionally exhausting day but if there was going to be fun part that was easy on ol’ Dad it would be the walking down the aisle. The place was filled with friends and family and I couldn’t wait to share this great moment with them and my lovely daughter.

And then I made eye contact with Dan Keyser. Coulda been somebody else, maybe anybody else among our guests, but it was Keyser. I immediately teared up and turned away, choosing to focus on the front of the venue (which would have been the back of the room when I was coached for my public speaking career by the great Diane Finch) and just finish the job. Like a jockey at Fonner Park Jess pulled the reins in once, telling me I was rushing things, which proves she had no idea the duress her old man was under.

Got her to the front of the church, told the preacher I do, they said I do, and just like that we had a married daughter. Oh boy, I felt like I’d run a marathon (or given my physical condition maybe like the length of our house).

After our meal, which featured a wonderful prayer by Evan’s father Brad, it was time for the toasts. Evan’s best man, A.J., gave a spot-on number about his best friend, making everybody smile. Jess had two speakers, former Hoops Stars Kyleen and Lexi, and they like A.J. has professed nervousness but they also did a wonderful job of celebrating their love for our daughter.

About the Hoop Stars. There might be a handful of you out there who remember the rise of the greatest youth girls basketball team in the history of the game, the Hoop Stars, whose roster consisted of eight Central City girls who spent four years together playing club basketball together. (Ours was a select team only in the sense they selected to play.) The team made both the bridesmaid toasts, and as their, um, coach I also toasted the mighty Hoop Stars, three of which were in the wedding party and six of which were in the house for the reception.

One of the many beautiful things about Jessie’s wedding (yours too, Evan) was that her entire wedding party consisted of Central City girls, the bride’s home town. And having the building filled with Hoop Stars was important to the bride and it also made what they apparently now call The FOB (Father of the Bride) smile at the same time. Great girls, all eight of them, and on a night where I cried myself out they were the subject of many happy tears, especially when we gathered in the back of the hall for some photos and they finished up with their Hoop, Hoop, Hoop Stars foot stomp they used when we broke the huddle. (there I go, crying again...)

Like my columns I gave my toast in the moment, no need for notes. This was Jessie and Evan’s night so more than usual I tried to limit the damage, keeping my speech much shorter than I was prepared to go. (As I reminded Keyser, my Arnold High schoolmate, about our induction day into the Nebraska High School Hall of Fame, I was told I have five minutes and was basically given the Vaudeville Hook after 14, so be prepared.)

Clearly, I would speak of my lovely daughter and her husband, two great kids who are so much fun together, and profess my love for both. I also didn’t want to take away from the bride and groom, it was their night. Even so, the Hoop Stars worked their way in there, and there was the usual “thanks for coming” comments, along with a reminder I would be taking a night shift at Casey’s to pay for this whole thing. (Luckily that sorta got a laugh.)

But something else happened the morning of wedding. Just before my Golden Retriever, Cooper, burst into our bedroom, jumped on the bed and ran is front paw into my eye (oh no, black on Jess’s wedding day!) I had a dream.

It is a dream, a story, I told Keyser he should pay close attention to because it involved his mom. That was sorta cryptic because I didn’t want to give it a away, though it did include our very dear family friend Jo Keyser in the sense she was one of my mom, Margaret Jensen’s best friends.

It went like this:

When we owned the Central City paper we used to get our industrial paper cutting blade sharpened at a place in north Omaha, on Pinkney Street, a place I’d been a couple times rather than shipping the blade. In my dream it felt like I was driving there but wound up on this long, straight street in North Platte, not a stop light nor stop sign in sight, until I reached the end of the pavement. Sitting to my left, which felt north, was the one-story brick house my sister Becky used to live in, and the street turned to gravel and continued a little bit before turning north and out of sight.

Obviously I was in the wrong place so I called my lovely wife Penni and asked, basically, where did I go wrong? (That opened the door to some hurtful comments but the dream police saved the day, right?) Anyway, the phone rang and my sister Becky picked up the line, giving me her ol’ “well hi there” like she always does. I said, Sis, sorry, I was trying to call Penn.

And now I am writing through some sniffles so hang with me...

The next voice I heard after calling Penn and having Aunt Becky answer the phone was my late mother, Grandma Margaret saying, “Yel-low, and one more thing...” And then she was gone, again. Checking on the morning of her granddaughter’s wedding, another reminder there is a God.

On a lighter and not as soul draining note, Dad’s always got to have some goofy intel to pass on to the kids so forever I have told Jessie and Shea, our son who goes by Matt in his professional life, when a clock turns to 11:11 it means good luck. Today I am writing my daughter’s wedding column on the 11th day of the 11th month, more sure than ever there’s something to that goofy proclamation as our girl and our newest boy in the family were lucky to have found each other so they can share a long, happy life together.

Love you, Jess. (and you, too, Evan, you know I do...)