Number 200

 Toast

As parent-of-the-bride, I was given the lead off position when it came time to toast Emma and Henry. After yesterday's post about the whole wonderful affair I thought I might publish the text of my toast. Not because I think it's great, or anything; but because being able to deliver it will be one of the highest privileges I'll ever have.

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Before I start with the traditional first toast, I need to say a few words about the folks that aren’t with us this evening. It’s no big revelation that there’s always a few people missing when gatherings like this happen. But I need to acknowledge the absence of one person in particular who deserves to be here more than any of the rest of us. Please join me in a toast to Emma’s mother, Rebecca.

Thank you, everyone, for being here tonight. Celebrating Henry and Emma is truly a joyous occasion.

I owe a special thank you to, well… Emma. You see, this beautiful wedding and reception were almost completely planned by her and Henry. And, [turning to Henry] Henry, let’s be honest here…  

Emma’s always been an extraordinarily gifted planner - from both the idea standpoint and the implementation standpoint. 

We learned these things about Emma early on. There was the time when Emma was probably four or 5 years old, and we told her we were going to visit to Aunt Sarah and Uncle Chuck’s in New Hampshire.  Less than an hour later her packed suitcase was beside the backdoor, ready to go. The only problem was the visit in question would not be occurring for another three weeks.

We soon learned that the other crucial component of Emma’s planning was task completion. The satisfaction of a job well done paired with a conscientious desire to finish assigned work. An example of this occurred during the only argument Emma and I ever had about her school work. One evening, as I was getting ready to leave to go see the first Thor movie with my friend Steve. I became aware that Emma was a bit upset. She was working on a set of Physics problems and contrary to what was typical, she was struggling to the point of tears. I recognized that she needed to take a break.

“Why don’t you set that aside and come to the movies with Steve and me?”

“NO! I need to get this finished!” (by the way, it wasn’t due the next day).

“Seriously, Emma, it would be good for you to take a break. Come see Thor with us.”

“No!”

Me, exhibiting the exasperation of a parent who knows what’s better for their child than the child does: “Emma, put it down. You’re coming with me! For goodness sake, Steve’s an engineering professor, bring your homework and ask him.”

“Fine!” she said in a voice that suggested, “I’m only doing this because you’re making me, and just to spite you, I refuse to have any fun.”

In the end, she came with me and asked Steve her questions, he helped as much as he could, she saw Thor (and liked it despite her best intentions!), and then returned home and finished her problem set in good order.

As a professional level procrastinator myself, she almost certainly inherited this single-minded determination from her mother. In fact I know it. One summer afternoon when Emma was 15, Rebecca received an emergency phone call - her mother, Emma’s Grammy, had had a heart attack. The drive to Marshfield WI, where Rebecca’s parents lived, took four hours. As it happened, Grace and I were away at violin camp that week, so with no other alternative, Rebecca got Emma and our dog Ginger in the car and took off. 

After an hour or so. “Mom, I’m kinda hungry. Can we stop for something to eat?”

“No.”

A bit more time passes. “Mom, there’s a McDonald’s right there…”

“No.”

Finally, the necessity for gas forced Rebecca to stop. As she got back in the car, she tossed Emma a small bag of Cheez-its and said “Here you go.” Ginger, who was watching carefully from the back seat, knew better than to ask for her dinner.

Now Emma was certainly never in danger of starving, but it’s fair to say that she was slightly displeased with a few of her mom’s choices on the drive to Marshfield that day. But, Emma, if you’ve ever wondered where your determination came from - well it got your mother to Marshfield in record time that day. And, just for the record, Grammy recovered.

Now, about the couple of the hour: Henry and Emma.

I was frequently asked after Emma and Henry became engaged. “Do you like him?,” as if I was the one who was going to marry him. I usually deferred by replying, “Well, I’m pretty sure Emma does…”

The only question I’ve ever asked either of my children as it relates to potential romantic partners is “Do they treat you well?” If I get an affirmative answer, I’m okay.

But it does beg the question, ‘what does it mean to be treated well?’

A lot of things can go into that, but a short list might include kindness, protection, patience, and maybe a little bit of love and affection.

The first time I heard Henry’s name was after Emma found herself in a bit of trouble in college at Iowa State. I was too far away to help her, but when she told me about it later she mentioned that Henry had been one of a few people who had helped her out. Not too much later, she confirmed that they were a viable, ‘Facebook official’ couple. I was pleased, but not surprised. We can check off ‘kindness’. ‘protection’, too.

What about patience?  Emma has always been my “Just so” child. As in, she wanted things done “just so.” Anyone who’s known Emma for a while knows that she enjoys doing things very particularly. Or, as we used to say, “She’s not bossy, she just has good ideas.” Henry said “I Do,” earlier, so I can only assume he’s got a mountain of patience.

Then there’s love and affection. One day, I believe Emma would have been about 14 or 15, she and I were driving in the car together. It was her turn to choose the music, which I usually tolerated pretty well. In any event, we’re driving along when the following lyric came from the radio “… shut your lips. Make like Helen Keller - Do your talking with your hips…” I shut off the radio and loudly declared “Bullsh*t! If I boy ever says something like that to you - slug ‘em!” And if Emma wasn’t already thoroughly embarrassed by my loud declaration, I followed it up with “Smart is sexy!” 

Henry and Emma both graduated from college with academic distinctions so I can only assume… uh… well, they’re both very smart, and, ummm… sexy, and, ahh… you know what, I think I’ll leave this one right here. I’ll just quietly check off ‘love and affection.’

Almost done.

The last thing about Emma you all need to know is that she is the most insanely lucky person I’ve ever known. It’s uncanny. When she was little, her mother and I both agreed there wasn’t going to be any “let’s let Emma win, so she’ll feel good and be happy.” No, she needed to learn that you don’t always win the game, that sometimes you lose. We wanted her to know how to win with class and lose with dignity. Except she never lost! Games like ‘Chutes n’ Ladders’ or ‘Candyland’ which require no skill and are completely dependent on the draw of a card or a roll of the dice, she’d win every time! Finally, I had to resort to cheating myself, to ensure that she occasionally experienced losing!

Later on, when our family would play a board game like ‘Sorry,’ Rebecca, Grace and I would band together to take down Emma. After we accomplished that, then we’d each go our own way. Except Emma still managed to win, giggling in an infuriating way the whole time.

When she turned 18, a couple of her friends took her to a casino. I coached her on responsible gambling. “Figure out how much you want to spend for the evening. Only take that much money in with you, and when it’s gone, you’re done.” Except on the way past a roulette wheel, guess who decided to bet on a specific number, and came up a winner the very first time!

You might think that her luck would eventually run out. Certainly losing her mother at age 20 might suggest so. But she met Henry in the months after Rebecca’s death, and there can be no doubt that having Henry around to help her with her grieving - being there when she needed someone to lean on, to be vulnerable with, to care for her and to help her lick her wounds - well, that’s been her greatest experience of ‘good luck’ ever.

But Emma, I do have one piece of bad news for you. You will never be lucky enough to see the way that Henry looks at you when you’re not aware of it. It is a look of pure love. It's a look that lets me, your parent, who used to hold your little butt in one hand when you would fall asleep on my shoulder, know that you are now, with Henry, in the safest of hands.

So raise a glass as we celebrate Emma, and my marvelous new son-in-law Henry. I love you both. Cheers!

(9/24/2022)