i could have imagined that my father and i would run around manhattan for a last-minute pre-wedding coffee, though i tend to place myself at the center of those scenarios. on a parent as a groom, i'll but say that it's weird to watch an habitual stoic cry at the drop of a hat.
pre-ceremony, we were sent to the bathroom to change; it was mark twain's bathroom, so i didn't complain. it was unnerving to be utterly overlooked for the photos, but i'd made a point of saying that i wanted no part of publicized shots. reminded myself of that, tried not to feel like a red-headed stepchild.
dad's spoor, as joe would say, was all over the event - a humorous reading at the altar, gourmet potato chips beside the hors d'oeuvres, lamentable power ballads at the reception - but it did seem like new york was ingesting him. taking him from us, rather.
[cont'd.]
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