I went to the wedding of two very good friends from college over the weekend. It was beautiful. Then, the plan was to fly back to BOS, drive to Portland for a visit with BMA, and drive home in time to go to bed and not be dead at work tomorrow. That didn’t happen, and I have very mixed feelings about it.
First, the wedding. It’ll be the last time I’m able to travel that light for the next twenty or so years. I don’t realize how much I miss Classics Hall people until I see them. This is not a ding to my Camberville friends, with and through whom I’ve discovered the self that I am and am becoming today. But the easy intellectuality, physicality, and laughter amongst my Obies is incredibly welcome at all times, and as more and more of us come to be based in the Boston area, I hope I’ll be able to tap into that more often than every couple of years. In a group, we seem to be an unstoppable force of trivia, punning, swearing, singing, laughter, hugs, compliments, and awkward silences.
There is also the absolute confidence that they seem to have in me in this parenting process. These are people who have known me for the better part of ten years, and have seen me through a lot of changes, and they believe in me as a father. I’m not the first of our college colleagues to become a parent, so they know what their peers becoming parents looks like, but I’m the first out of this particular grouping to do so (and likely to be the only for a while). And many of them took time over the weekend to express that they’re reading the blog (hi guys!), that they are excited for me, and that they feel a sense of rightness about this. I’m incredibly grateful that our relationships allow us to say these things to each other. I’m also glad I can outsource the classical music education to some experts.
I instigated a low-key pre-wedding party (with the help of Debby, for selling me her awesome liqueurs that intrigued everyone there), which meant I spent the first hours of Shabbas alone, but that we all got together after the rehearsal dinner back at the hotel. The wedding itself was beautiful, meaningful, impressive, and brief, followed by excellent conversation and a lot of dancing. And I got to dance with an 11-week-old in a sweatervest. Who cried when I gave him back to his grandmother. After we bid adieu to the celebrants, people converged again for more snacks and conversation and board games until at least one am. We all woke up feeling very old and creaky, but in the car on the way back to the airport, found a Mendelssohn opera on the radio to perk us up
Achy, underslept, and having had to kill a couple of hours at DCA, I was kind of happy when I texted BMA after landing and she told me she and the kids were still too sick for a visit. But I feel bad about that happy relief. Every time it comes time to go see her, I definitely psych myself out, and the comedown is a bit hard. It’s why I’ve tried so hard to schedule visits even when I don’t really have the time (like this weekend). Out of four attempts I have made to see BMA since we were matched, only one has been successful, and I feel like I don’t know her as well as I’d like to at this point. There are lots of things that I want to discuss with her, and I think I can only do those in person, and I’m running out of time. We’re already joined in a way that isn’t really breakable, I know, but it will become far more concrete in a couple of weeks, when there is a human being and a legal contract connecting our lives. It’s not that I think we’ll be close; I’m not looking for that level of contact between us. I just want to be able to anticipate a bit better who she is, and be able to represent her fully, complexly, and honestly to the people around me and eventually to the person she is creating.