Bad luck runs in our family. Before anyone marries into our clan, we sit them down and explain that once those vows have been taken, there is no going back…bad luck will hunt them down. It’s a family curse.
Several weeks ago, the entire family had to attend a wedding. Since it was a relative, it has always been customary for my dad to perform the ceremony. He is 89 years old and has been a pastor for 67 years. So, he was asked to officiate this wedding.
Dad is stingy now. He refuses to buy a suit saying, “I need just three suits, one black to marry people, one to gray bury people, and one gray to bury me!” We all roll our eyes at this, but he absolutely refuses to buy another suit. He usually performs weddings and funerals in the same black suit.
My dad has always been a sharp dresser. He is tall and thin and can really rock a suit! He worked at Dillards menswear for a while after he retired, and he knows his stuff. But as he has aged, he has decided that suits are just taking up space in his closet. So he is down to three. Two gray and one black.
The day of the wedding, he came out of the bedroom looking like a million bucks. Tasseled Rockford shoes black and shined, black suit, crisp white shirt, and an elegant checked tie.
We both turned our attention to my mother who must use a wheelchair or scooter. So we helped her get ready and finally, it was time to go to the wedding.
When we arrived at the venue, I began unloading the pieces of my mother’s scooter. Dad came around me to help and as he leaned forward into the car, I caught a glimpse of the back of his suitcoat.
I almost had heart failure.
Holes. There were holes…everywhere. Straight down the middle back seam. Holes. I stood there dumbfounded and as he walked toward the car door to get my mother, I saw a hole in his pants leg.
Oh. My. Dear. Lord.
This was a disaster.
Quickly I ran up to him. “Daddy, you have to go home right now and change your suit!”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you have several holes in your suit!” I was practically yelling with horror.
He just turned and looked at me. “It will be fine. I just have to get through this wedding.”
“Dad, this is bad! The holes are bad, big, and noticeable!” I shrieked.
Momma put in her two cents worth. “If you find me a needle and thread, I can probably fix them.”
“Momma,” I said as calmly as possible, “you can’t fix this. These holes are not fixable.”
“It will be alright. I will just face everyone, and no one will notice,” he said confidently.
This sounded like a real bad idea to me, but if he listened to me, we just might pull this off. “Dad, do not, I repeat, do NOT, walk down the center aisle like you usually do. Walk around the outside of the seating so no one can see your holes!”
“Okay,” he said, as he fussed over my mom getting into her scooter. About that time, mom put her scooter into gear and took off leaving us behind. She then ran straight into a chair and cut her ankle.
While I was mopping up blood from her small cut through her now torn hose, dad rushed off to speak with the groom and wedding director.
Evidently, all of the hullabaloo with my mom caused my dad to be frazzled and he completely forgot what I lectured him about….do NOT walk down the center aisle…because the next minute, that’s what he did.
He walked down the center aisle with his back to the entire crowd. Every wedding guest was able to witness his suit of holes. I dropped my head in my hands while my niece sat next to me giggling.
We got through the wedding and later that night he told me he had to perform a wedding the next weekend. I told him to get rid of the black suit and go buy a new black suit for the following weekend.
He refused. “I need just two gray suits, one to marry and bury people, and one to bury me!”
I am still rolling my eyes.
