So tomorrow is the big day when I don’t lose a daughter, but gain a son-in-law.
It doesn’t totally feel like that yet, because the newlyweds are moving to Denver in a couple of weeks, where my daughter will start her new job as a pediatrics nurse in a fine hospital there. For the first time, we’ll be pretty far from one of the girls, and that’s a transition for us as well as for her.
I’m going to be giving a blessing, and a toast, and some short comments at the wedding, and as I’ve started to write and rehearse them, I realize that — despite my blue-collar Illinois upbringing, and my overall manly stoicism – I am likely to be crying like Adam Kinzinger in a congressional show trial.
Oh, except that my tears will be appropriate to the occasion, and heartfelt, and laced with a combination of patriarchal protectiveness and testosterone.
So, on second thought, they’ll be the opposite of Adam Kinzinger’s mortifyingly fake and estrogenical display.
Anyway, as you might guess, I won’t be writing a column on Friday, and my Monday one might be delayed, depending on the intensity of the aftermath of the big day.
But don’t think that I am forgetting CO nation, and my obligation to you all! I’ve still been taking a few notes for a future column.
(Dr. Jill comparing Hispanics to “tacos,” and referring to a “bo-guh-duh” instead of a bodega? Check. Joey Gaffes stopping in Israel to discuss “the truth and honor of the Holocaust?” Check.)
Unfortunately for me, I’ve been dealing with some tooth pain for about 10 days, and found out on Monday that I’ll be having a root canal next Thursday, which was the soonest they could get me in.
To complicate things, I’ve also come down with a flu, which started on Sunday and is still hanging on.
Fortunately, I’m as tough as a two-dollar steak, so I’m going to get past this, and walk my baby down the aisle Friday evening. If I need to self-administer a few pops of medicinal bourbon beforehand, well, that’s why God invented Kentucky.
I look forward to giving you all an after-action report on the wedding next week, as well as limbering up and taking a few swings at the goofballs who are temporarily ruling us.
Until next time…
Martin Simpson 