“Nancy, I want to introduce you to someone,” my cousin Rowdy said as he tapped his wife on the shoulder at his nephew’s wedding. Nancy turned around. “Lisa was my date to my high school prom.”
Weddings are all about dressing up to look your best and showing up relatives and friends you haven’t seen in a while. Friday night I arrived at my cousin’s son’s wedding in a casual San Diego beach community armed and ready— loaded with an abundant supply of my cutest grandma pictures.
One guest wore dressy jeans and a lavender shirt (remember casual community). “It’s good to see you came formal for the occasion,” my cousin said.
“I did,” the friend answered back. He held up his pant leg revealing closed-toed shoes. “Dark socks,” he said.
Family affairs are about mores and lesses. More years, more girth, more memories. Less hair, less recall of names and, unfortunately, less of the older generations left. One day we all come to understand the importance of families. Hot Wheelz used to sneak out the window at night to get away from us. Now he comes to visit and doesn’t want to leave.
I left the wedding with my well refilled, reminiscing of reunions on a cousin’s Arizona’s ranch, where California gringos milked cows, rode wild horses, and roped bulls in watered down rodeos. I was a young girl, home in Maywood once again during an easier time. Memories of Easter egg scavenger hunts at the city’s only park or watching family members perform on toy instruments in the early days of Rock ‘n’ Roll (no one in the family ever quit their day job) flashed in my mind.
Come to think of it, I don’t know what happened to Richard Wilson, my date to the senior prom. It’s amazing someone out there has this same photograph. I’m just excited I can remember his name.
Where is Richard Wilson?
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