Some people spend months planning the perfect wedding.
We spent the night before wondering if there would even be one.
The forecast called for severe thunderstorms, hail, tornadoes, and winds approaching 100 miles an hour. Following tradition, Laura and I didn’t see each other the night before the ceremony. She stayed with her bridesmaids while I checked into a hotel with my best man and the rest of the groomsmen.
After dinner, I settled into my room and watched the weather reports roll across the television. The storm arrived just as they predicted. Rain pounded the windows. The wind howled. Hail rattled the glass so hard I couldn’t see across the parking lot.
Then I noticed something unexpected.
It had started raining inside my bathroom.
A leak in the ceiling had turned part of the room into its own little thunderstorm. Thankfully it stayed in the bathroom, so my bed remained dry. I spent the next couple of hours listening to the weather outside and the water dripping inside while wondering if a tornado would send me to Kansas before I ever became a husband.
Eventually the warnings expired. The rain eased. Sometime after midnight I finally fell asleep.
The next morning couldn’t have looked more different.
The sky was clear.
The sun was shining.
When I pulled into the parking lot at Bethany Lutheran Church, it was as though someone had washed the entire world clean overnight. The grass glowed a brilliant green. Trees that had looked bare the day before suddenly seemed alive. Every flower looked brighter.
After the night we’d just had, it felt like a gift.
Of course, then the photographer took over.
We had planned not to see each other before the ceremony, but photographers have a way of rewriting traditions in the name of efficiency. Before we knew it, we were taking every combination of photograph imaginable. Laura and me. The wedding party. The flower girl. The ring bearer. My family. Her family.
By the time we finished, I was convinced we’d been posing for three hours.
While all of this was happening, my step-grandpa had an insulin reaction. My parents were trying to get hard candy and soda into him while everyone else continued smiling for pictures as if nothing unusual was happening.
That’s weddings.
There’s always something happening just outside the frame.
Then there was Drew.
Laura’s five-year-old cousin was our ring bearer. At some point during the photos he heard sirens outside the church.
A fire truck.
Naturally, he decided he needed to see it.
By the time anyone realized he was gone, Drew was sprinting up the hill after the truck in his little black tuxedo.
Fortunately, one of my best friends and groomsmen, Eric, happened to look up while decorating our limousine with the traditional collection of window paint, balloons, and whatever else groomsmen think is funny.
He saw Drew disappear over the hill and took off after him.
By the time Eric caught him and brought him back, he was completely winded.
Apparently, five-year-olds are much faster than adults.
Laura and I never knew any of this was happening until later.
We were still smiling for pictures.
Eventually, it was time.
Our wedding coordinator—whom we affectionately nicknamed “Lipstick Jackie”—handed everything over to Dr. Bowers, who began the ceremony.
I was nervous.
Really nervous.
I spent most of the ceremony tapping my legs because I was convinced I might pass out.
Then came the rings.
Drew, still sweaty from his unexpected sprint after the fire truck, proudly handed them over.
When Laura slid my ring onto my finger…
…it stopped halfway.
It had fit perfectly when we bought it.
Apparently wedding-day nerves make fingers swell.
We looked at each other and laughed.
Then Dr. Bowers introduced us for the first time as Mr. and Mrs. Hardy.
After the ceremony, we greeted every guest before leaving for the reception. It seemed like a wonderful idea until I hugged my Great Aunt Orilla.
She wore enough makeup that when she hugged me goodbye, she left a perfect face print across the front of my crisp white formal shirt.
It looked like the Shroud of Turin.
By the time we climbed into our graffiti-covered limousine, I knew our friends had done their job.
The reception at the Omaha Club quickly took on a life of its own. Every table had disposable cameras that later produced some unforgettable photographs. Meanwhile, my groomsmen had somehow decided they were Action 5 News. Armed with a video camera, they interviewed guests, staff, and eventually wandered into the kitchen where they found one of the chefs, Johnny Johnson, taking a smoke break on the fire escape.
Without missing a beat, Johnny wished us a happy marriage, mentioned he was stopping for malt liquor on the way home, and somehow delivered one of the most memorable interviews of the evening.
Near the end of the reception, one of Laura’s coworkers, Kenny, grabbed the microphone and sang “New York, New York.”
Let’s just say Frank Sinatra had nothing to worry about.
By the time we finally reached our honeymoon suite at the historic Paxton Hotel, we were exhausted.
The room had a hot tub.
We filled it.
Then I helped Laura remove the bobby pins holding her hair in place.
One after another…
…and another…
…and another.
She filled both hands with them.
Twice.
I still have no idea how all of those pins fit into one hairstyle.
By the time the last one came out, neither of us had enough energy left to get into the hot tub.
We crawled into bed instead.
The next morning we washed the graffiti off the limousine, opened gifts with Laura’s family, and spent the week relaxing before leaving on our Caribbean honeymoon cruise.
Thirty years later…
Looking back, I honestly couldn’t tell you what flowers decorated the tables.
I don’t remember what dinner was served.
I barely remember the wedding cake.
But I remember wondering if I’d wake up in Kansas.
I remember Drew chasing a fire truck.
I remember my wedding ring refusing to fit.
I remember Aunt Orilla’s makeup on my shirt.
I remember Johnny Johnson promising to celebrate our marriage with malt liquor.
And I remember sitting on the edge of a hotel tub, pulling what felt like a thousand bobby pins from Laura’s hair while we laughed about a day that had gone almost nothing like we planned.
I’ve come to believe perfection was never the goal.
It’s everything that goes wonderfully, hilariously wrong along the way.
If this resonated with you, you’re not alone.
