Thirty percent

I totally praised my mother and my girlfriend alike in my most recent post – and if you’re willing to be patient, I’ll praise them both again, along with my sister. But in the meantime, just so you don’t think I’m trying to come off as the world’s most enlightened man, I’ll tell you a story in which I don’t immediately make such a good impression.

To be fair, it’s not a thoroughly shameful story, like the one about the time when I kissed a statue out in front of that hospital in Kingston – which we thought to be a statue of Jesus, but it’s tough to say for sure – simply because a colleague of mine at the campus paper dared me to do so. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to take any lip from someone who’s not even as funny as me,” I probably thought at the time because I was drunk and also an impetuous idiot.

That wasn’t my finest hour. Although I have to admit, in retrospect, that it may have been the most respectable thing I ever did in the name of that particular publication.

But as always, I’m getting off track. After thirty years in Scarborough, my parents are in the process of moving to a place downtown. A couple of weekends ago, my brother Jon and I spent a Saturday helping them move a bunch of their furniture. During one of the day’s many trips between the two houses, the conversation inevitably turned towards my approaching wedding.

I should note that these conversations are always encouraging and supportive. From the beginning, my family’s been wonderfully excited about Kate, and about the notion of our two families becoming one family. Which is great, although I can’t help but detect a certain sense of “You beat the odds and we’re never going to forgive you if you blow it” from everyone involved. But maybe that’s just me and my various insecurities.

At any rate, when you’re planning a wedding, you inevitably call upon your family and friends to lend a hand with the many, many little jobs you’ve got to tackle. And although he was the one and only option as far as a best man was concerned, my little brother – a fellow who I gladly measure myself against even though I hear it’s supposed to go the other way around, and who I probably shouldn’t even call my “little brother” in light of the fact that he’s a good deal taller than me – was also the obvious choice for any and all graphic design work. Which is impressive, because that’s not even his main thing these days.

Jon and I had been going back and forth for a while on the specifics of the invitations he was designing. He’d given us some great samples, and although Kate and I had promised ourselves that we wouldn’t become obsessed with that sort of thing, we had fallen into the trap of debating the colours. My mother, sitting in the shotgun seat as always, happened to hear me tell my brother that he should defer to Kate’s opinion on the colours, because my opinion on these sorts of details counted for “maybe thirty percent.”

“Well, that’s a lovely thing to hear,” my mother said in the sharp tone that instantly makes the sons of mothers feel about two years old and an inch tall.

What my mother thought I’d meant, you see, was that I was essentially approaching our wedding – and indeed, our marriage – by throwing my hands up in the air and shouting “Women, right? What’s the point in even trying to get your way when they’re all so domineering?” And yeah, that’s not a great point of view, so I can totally understand my mother’s initial disappointment.

What I actually meant, of course, is that I’m happy if Kate’s happy. Call me a whipped idiot if you’ve got your own worries about your masculinity, but that’s how it is. Sure, I’ve got some expectations when it comes to what our wedding day should be like, but the fact of the matter is that my greatest priority is ensuring that Kate gets everything she wants out of the occasion.

I know, ladies, I know. I’m basically terrific. I’m the lanky Canadian equivalent of the guy from the Old Spice ads. But sadly, I’m afraid I’m taken. Besides, I prefer the ads that Terry Crews did with Tim and Eric.

At any rate, my mother was much happier about my actual attitude. I don’t think it was enough to sway anyone in the car away from the belief that I was pulling off the con job of a lifetime by marrying such an amazing woman, but at this point, I’ll take what I can get.

Posted in Uncategorized