last chances

It all started with the rehearsal. "Stand here, sir. You'll be right." I remember when I was his age, yet I had already gone through this the year before. "He's too young," I kept repeating to myself hypocritically. "He's just a kid. He doesn't know what he's doing..."

There he stood in a tuxedo, nervously fidgeting with his boutannier, yet smiling all the while. He greeted the incoming guests as they squished, gasped and trampled their way into the crowded cathedral. His mother was all tears, so I had to remind her, "It hasn't even started yet." "I know, I know." Blot. Wipe.

I felt like I hadn't given him any words of wisdom, just 20 years of criticizing his mistakes. So much of me believed that this, too, may be a mistake. Nothing would take away that glimmer in his eyes.

"How do you tie this thing again?" One last piece of advice, one last chance to teach him something that just might stay with him. One last chance.

With a gentle smile I showed my son how to loop the tie just right and pull the bottom under.

He smiled in appreciation. "I'm sure she'll be beautiful. She's gonna look so beautiful. I can't wait to see her!"
I nodded statically.
"Ready?" he asked as we were ushered toward the procession. I nodded again, took my daughter's arm, and escorted her down the aisle.

With a tear of hope, I thought of how much harder it would be when it was her turn. She patted me on the arm and looked down.
*A son is a son until he takes a wife- a daughter is a daughter for the rest of your life.*