Artifact: Truth, Conjecture and Imaginative Recollection of the Wedding Toast

Artifact: Truth, Conjecture and Imaginative Recollection of the Wedding Toast

“Me do it.” Her first words.

She let me know what she wanted, whether perched on her derriere when she was four months old, or trailing me around the house begging to learn violin in elementary school, or maybe even, as an adult, directly informing me that I should not wear T-shirts anymore in public (“you’re really too old for that”).

For my part, my precious, albeit, chubby, Karen is not going to grace the office of that pediatrician, the one who dared suggest that Karen go on a diet at age two.. Yes, she had rolls of fat on her knees and food trapped under her chin would spoil, but she was my baby and there would be no diet. All of you can see baby fat does not mean obesity in adulthood. 

Karen rode shotgun in my belly at Harvard, in the same building she was to write her own Ph.D. thesis 28 years later. We are connected through our shared experience of attending one of the most prestigious universities in the world. For that, I am proud of both of us.

Life is hard and I had my share of phone calls where I could tell by the sound of her breath, before her first word, how she was doing.  An example of an “easy” hard call was when she was merely crying about not doing well in class because “everyone else” understood everything.  Lesson number One:  If guys say they understand everything - No, they don’t. Trust me. The hard ones, love and loss.  I advised that chamomile tea and a hot shower were the first antidotes and to call me back in 15 minutes. In between sobs, she would reward me by laughing at my terrible jokes.

We started our three day tramp in torrential rain in New Zealand.  Karen clobbered me in scrabble, we drank wine.  It stopped raining eventually. Since we already had the “lesbian” talk on Pearl Street (thanks, Daniel), our conversation eventually wandered onto the topic of male partners. She didn’t seem to like any, or want to go out with any; I asked her a natural question - did she ever want to get married or have a family? I recall her being rather indignant. …     Sometime later, I started hearing about this guy named Chris.

I was desperate – well, ok, not desperate, but …desperate for her to meet a good guy.  Frankly, she described some of the others as real duds. Who could be good enough for my amazing daughter, smart enough, gentle, supportive, handsome, tall, and creative?  Did such a man exist?  If she met such a man, would she choose him?  Could it be this Chris fellow?  Maybe he could even field the tears.  No more tearful phone calls when I was in the middle of a blind Nordic skier convention? 

Yep, Chris is the one.  In the end, this headstrong, smart as a whip, take-no-prisoners daughter of mine did fall in love with such a man, an equal partner, who would love her for all she is, and for her to love for all he is.

“Me do it” will, of course, continue to be a part of her life as an independent woman. But now, happily, she does not have to rely solely on herself.  “We do it” is now part of their life together.