This mother spoke for two parents at her son's wedding, gave her husband exactly one sentence, and got the biggest laugh of the night out of a bucket of soapy water.
Every Saturday for nineteen years, my husband stood in our driveway with a hose and a bucket and pretended to wash the car. What he was actually doing was waiting for Theo to come out and talk to him.
His name was Ray. He died two years ago in March, and I will say his name once, because he would hate a fuss. Ray. There. He is here anyway. Look at Theo when he laughs.
My son has always taken the long way to say the short thing. When Theo was seventeen, he spent an entire Saturday washing the car beside his father. A car that was already clean. Four hours. I watched from the kitchen window with a dish towel, and the poor Buick was squeaking.
Finally Ray said, "Son, you are going to rub through the paint." And Theo told him. He had turned down the engineering scholarship. He wanted to go to cooking school.
Ray was quiet for a long time. Then he handed Theo the sponge and said, "Do the wheels, then. Cooks need clean wheels." I laughed so hard I had to sit down on the stairs, and I am told they could hear me from the street.
Maribel, I have watched you do the same thing for three years. You hand him the sponge. Last Thanksgiving it took Theo forty minutes to work up to asking whether you wanted pie, and you did not rescue him once. You just waited, and you kept your hands busy so he would not feel watched. Most people rush him. You have never rushed him, and that is the reason he finally says everything he means.
I learned one more thing from Ray, which is that grief and a good laugh can share a chair. After he died, I found his reading glasses in the glove box, three pairs, each with a different crack, and I could not move any of them. Theo found out and came over with a fourth pair, cracked on purpose, with a bow on top. We sat in that driveway until the streetlights came on.
So here is what I wish for the two of you. I wish you a driveway of your own, and a Saturday with nothing in it. I wish you somebody who will stand there with a hose and wait for you to be ready. I wish you long, slow, ridiculous conversations, the kind that take four hours to say eleven words.
And I wish you a car that has never once been quite clean enough.
Please stand and raise your glass to Theo and Maribel.
End of speech. The Vault holds 3 more mother of the groom speeches, named below.