This father walked his daughter down an aisle once before, and tonight he says plainly that this is not a do-over.
Nine years ago I walked Lauren down the aisle of a church in Dayton, and I spent the whole time worried about a loose floorboard near the third pew. Tonight I intend to look at her.
My daughter is the only person I know who has never once treated a second chance as a smaller one.
The winter after things ended, Lauren moved herself and two small children into an apartment over a dry cleaner on Kettering Avenue. The apartment came with no dining table. She went to the lumberyard, bought a solid door, laid it across two sawhorses, and told me to come for Thanksgiving.
I stood in that kitchen with my coat on, thinking it was the saddest piece of furniture I had ever seen. Theo, who was seven, looked at the door for a long time and asked whether the hole where the doorknob goes was for the gravy. Lauren said yes, it was the best idea anyone had all week. The gravy boat sat in that hole for the entire meal and did not tip once. I will tell you honestly that I went into the bathroom for a minute afterward, because I understood I had been wrong about the furniture. It was not a sad table. It was a very brave one, and every person who sat at it knew that.
Paul, the first time you came to that apartment, you brought a folding chair. Nobody had asked you to. You said you did not want to assume there would be a seat. The door, I am told, is in the garage now, retired with honors, and I have never seen the chair come out of the trunk of your car, because there has always been a place for you. But I knew from that chair what sort of man you are. You did not arrive to replace anything. You arrived asking where to sit, and you have been asking, patiently, every week since. You asked Theo before you asked me. You asked Mae before you asked her mother. That is the right order, and I noticed.
Theo, Mae, you are in the front row, where I can see you, and I want you to hear this from your grandfather. Nobody is getting married around you tonight. Everybody is getting married with you.
I will not wish you happily ever after. You two are too smart for the promise of a first draft. I wish you ordinary Tuesdays. I wish you a table you picked, with enough chairs that nobody has to bring their own, and a gravy boat that never tips.
So please raise your glass. To Lauren and Paul.
End of speech. The Vault holds 3 more father of the bride speeches, named below.