Father of the Bride Archives

Sue Kinzie of the Washington Post, who used to work at the N&O, came up with a great story. George Mason University in suburban D.C., best known for its run through the NCAA tournament in 2006 and less well-known for having had a couple of Nobel laureates in economics on the faculty, has a semester-long course on weddings.

It is in GMU's School of Recreation, Health and Tourism.

Naturally, I had to look it up in the course catalog, and here's the description:

"190 Wedding Planning (3:3:0) Introduction to the planning and management of weddings. Explores social, political, economic, cultural, religious, and historical influences on wedding planning decision-making and business strategies. Reviews practices relevant to successful wedding planning, and consultancy for diverse clients and settings."

The professor who dreamed it up was told by the administration that she could teach the course if she could get 10 people to sign up. This semester, according to Kinzie, 100 students are in the class.

Obviously, when it was just the bride and the groom and the immediate family witnessing the ceremony in someone's parlor, you didn't need a course such as this. But now the economy of our U.S. wedding industry is approaching the size of Finland's gross national product (You could look it up.) So I suppose this was inevitable.

At Chapel Hill, I think they probably touch on weddings in the context of graduate-level Sociology seminars delving into comparative cultural rituals, but I don't expect there's anything about picking a caterer on the final.

P.S. Thanks to N&O reporter Jane Stancill, who covers higher ed, for tipping me off to Kinzie's story.

That's how much I lost in November.  Combination of going to the gym, walking with my wife, and pigging out less. My goal this month:  10 pounds.  I am not counting calories because that never works with me. My inspiration is Mike Huckabee, who lost 100 pounds, which he will probably start putting back on if he drops out after South Carolina.

I was talking to a new bride and she mentioned that she had just gone through a bunch of paperwork to take her husband's name. Mostly, it involved getting a new Social Security card, which involved producing a marriage license and filling out the SS-5 form in blue or black ink, and legibly. Getting that marriage license involves getting a certified copy from the county clerk's office, for example, Wake County's. Brides who change their names have to go through through a similar rigamarole with DMV. I used to think brides who kept their maiden names were making some kind of statement, or were concerned about losing their professional identity. Now I realize that it's just possible that it's a pain in the neck. And I wonder how many women take their husband's name but never do the paperwork. With the divorce rate the way it is, they may just want to wait a year and see if it takes.

If you are not crazy about your daughter's prospective husband, don't kidnap her the night before the wedding in hopes she'll come to her senses. You may ask, who would do such a nutty thing? Ah, well, you've obviously never been to Utah. Here's a story courtesy of the Associated Press:

"PROVO, Utah (AP) — A couple accused of kidnapping their daughter on the eve of her wedding pleaded guilty Wednesday to a reduced charge and a judge ordered mental-health professionals to evaluate them for actions he called “clearly irrational.”
Julia Redd, 58, and husband Lemuel Redd, 60, pleaded guilty to custodial interference, a misdemeanor, capping the legal end of a family spat over their daughter Julianna’s choice for a husband.
The plea spared them jail time. A judge immediately sentenced the parents to three years of probation and ordered them to pay $2,000, the cost of a meal that was missed on the eve of the original wedding date, along with the mental evaluation.
The parents had originally been charged with kidnapping their 20-year-old daughter in August 2006. The Redds had picked up her to take her shopping to buy religious garments for the ceremony in a Mormon temple, but instead drove more than 200 miles to Grand Junction, Colo., where they spent a night in a motel.
Their daughter has said her parents berated her on the drive, accusing her of breaking the Old Testament’s Fourth Commandment, which says to honor parents. She said they called her fiance “evil and wicked.”
Julianna and Perry Myers were married Aug. 8, 2006, three days later than planned — and without the Redds in attendance."

Now a couple of things that weren't covered in the stories I read on this: I can only imagine what it was like at the restaurant when the bride and her parents didn't show up. Talk about awkward pauses in the conversation for the dozens of guests (it was a $2,000 dinner, so there must have been a bunch of folks. Was it the rehearsal dinner? Must have been.). Who gave away the bride when all the dust had settled? Dad was in the process of lawyering up and it's hard to walk your daughter down the aisle when she's papered you with a restraining order. Maybe a sympathetic, uncrazy uncle.

Just for the record, I don't see anything like this in my future.

Tamara runs a photography business out of South Durham, in one of the new office buildings that have cropped up around the Streets of Southpoint. This month, her photos have appeared in seven different magazines, including Inside Weddings, where she has a six-page spread (Lead story: 1,000+ engagement rings & wedding bands....). That's how I found out about her, because her intrepid publicist's email found its way to my inbox. The occasion was a pretty fancy wedding at a resort on Daufuskie Island in South Carolina, which is way out of my Johnston County price range.

Being intensely interested in all things weddings, I bit. We had a conversation last night, around 8 p.m., and her work day had not ended yet. Tamara and her husband, Steve, are the classic, high-achieving newcomers. They came here around 5 years ago from San Francisco, and have two little children, a boy and a girl. Steve runs Endurance Magazine. I get the feeling that a good time for these folks is a triathalon.

The first wedding she shot was a friend's, in Florida, in early '03. The friend had a photographer already lined up, but Tamara wanted to see if she build a career in the business. Not necessarily a wedding shooter. It turned out well.

Today, her business is split between weddings and portraits, and she personally does 15 weddings a year. She used to do 45 herself, but dialed back and now her staff does most of them.

She says that styles have changed. Bridal portraits are less formal than they used to be, for one thing. And wedding photography is now more than just table shots.

It's not unusual for brides-to-be to contract with her a year out, and some line up her services two years in advance. That gives her enough time to really get to know the couple, so that when the day comes, she feels like a friend.

As we talked, I realized (duh) that shooting a wedding is tricky. You have to capture incredibly important images, but you can't interrupt the preacher so that you can get a better angle. How does she manage?

Well, for starters, Tamara always takes a second photographer with her. Ah, I said, that makes sense. And with the right lense, she can stand at the back of Duke Chapel and take shots that look like she was standing behind the couple. At the reception, she'll enlist a family member, maybe a young cousin, to help her figure out who's who.

If you want to see some of her photography, you can go to her blog, where you can also learn more about here, like how she met Steve. her previous life as a management consultant and growing up as an Army brat.

Queen Elizabeth II celebrated her 60th wedding anniversary last week. She was given away on Nov. 20, 1947 by her father, George VI. I'm thinking he probably got a lot of the catering, flowers, limo and Westminster Abbey comped.

Her husband, Philip Mountbatten, definitely married up. Probably the most successful case of marrying up in recorded history, since, while being a royal and a distant cousin of Elizabeth, he didn't have too many shillings to rub together.

Young Princess Elizabeth's parents were not keen on the nuptials, but it looks like things worked out. Here's a great story from 2006 on their marriage.

I generally follow Philip's example and walk behind my wife at public events.

Now that the engagement notice has run in the N&O, which it did, on page 4D today. "Dan and Katherine Barkin announce...." it began in the formal, old-fashion way of engagement notices. This may be the only thing that I will be in the position to announce, ever, that would run in the paper. Some other dad will have the high honor of announcing the engagement of my son, someday, to his daughter. I do not plan to seek public office, so there will be no announcements forthcoming on that score (although I have said on more than one occasion that the ideal job for me when I retire would be a seat in the North Carolina House of Representatives, where I would spend my mornings reading the newspaper whilst awaiting direction from the leadership on how to vote.)

We shared Thanksgiving dinner with our future in-laws yesterday.  Actually, we were at their next-door neighbors' home.  Where I saw the most amazing thing.  Buddy, the neighbor and my new hero, had a pig cooker in the backyard where he was cooking away. 

But, upon closer examination, I realized that this wasn't just any pig cooker. It was automated with a touch-screen and a box of controls such as might be hooked up to the missile guidance system on a Seawolf class attack submarine.  The whole thing was wi-fi enabled. I was told that when I mentioned that all it lacked was a flat panel TV.

Bill, Travis' dad, pointed out the antenna that let Buddy monitor the pig from his computer in the house, so he could, in fact, watch the game while the cooker cooked.  A sign on the whole thing read: "Pig Master 2005," which made me wonder if this were a floor model, but Buddy told me, no, this was his invention.  With some venture capital this could be a business, I suggested.

I happened upon a web site, BridesDecide.com, which was launched by The Knot, an up-and-coming force in online wedding sites. Here is what it says on the site:

"When it comes to electing the 44th president, it's savvy women like us who are going to make history. That's why we created BridesDecide.com, a front-row ticket to the 2008 presidential election. Get informed, take our survey, and check out the candidates' real wedding photos (we couldn't resist!)."

OK, that's fine, but the real interesting part of this site is about the candidate's wedding pictures and the details, and the stuff that's not on the site.

"Hillary and Bill married in the living room of their new home on October 11, 1975. A local Methodist minister and his wife officiated the ceremony as 15 of their closest friends and family looked on. Following the intimate ceremony, Hillary and Bill's friends hosted a reception in their backyard where a few hundred friends gathered to celebrate."

Some of these candidates have been married multiple times, and I wanted to see about all their weddings but the site falls wa-ay short on that. No wedding pictures on the Giuliani and Thompson pages. We get to see Chris Dodd in a tux with his current missus, but not his first one.

According to this site, Mike Huckabee didn't have money for a ring when he was 18 so he pulled the tab off a soda can (when they had such things) and proposed in her living room.

There's a charming scene in the otherwise preachy, sanctimonious movie The American President, when Michael Douglas (the anti-gun, pro-environment president) is explaining to his new girlfriend, Annette Bening (the environmental lobbyist) why she is so nervous about being, well, on a date with him. (Liberals in Love, from Aaron Sorkin and Rob Reiner).

He explains that when all the First Ladies met their future husbands, they weren't the Most Powerful Men in the World. They were just ordinary schlubs, for the most part, (Mitt Romney, the son of a governor and Dodd, the son of a senator and John McCain, the son of an admiral, notwithstanding. You get the point.)

Which is why, if you are Janet Huckabee, you are probably the least nervous person around Mike Huckabee, because you remember him on his knee with the pull tab in the 1970s.

I've lost 8 pounds so far on the East Clayton diet, which consists of eating my wife's meals and not snacking as much. Today I tried on a pair of pants that I think came from Belk a while back but I hadn't worn before. They were a little snug.  Like most middle-aged portly guys, we like a little room.  OK, a lot of room. As I was torquing into the pants, my wife came and said they looked slimming. So I inhaled, buckled them up and wore them to the office.

There's never a perfect time to go down a size.  There is always a few days when you are betwixt and between. So, if you see my eyes bug out a little more than usual today, you'll know the problem.  Five more pounds and these things will swim.

When Hilary was very little, and people would ask her what her father did for a living, she would reply: "Dink caw-fee" or words to that effect. I suspect that is because whenever she saw me at the office, I always had a mug of java in my mitt.

Later, after she learned how to dial the telephone, she would call me up and ask me: "What are you doing?" To which I would always reply: "Daddy work." Because it was too involved to explain that I was on deadline editing a Page 1 story, etc., etc. and negotiating with the desk for a little more space on the jump page but getting nowhere and now I have to go back and cut five inches out and my reporter's going to pitch a fit.

So to this day, when she calls, as she did a few minutes ago, she always asks: "What are you doing?" And I always reply: "Daddy work."

On the weekend before Thanksgiving, 1977, my wife and I had our first date. Now, you might expect me to say: He's let's break out a pack of Hebrew Nationals tomorrow night and fire up the George Foreman, but no.

We will go somewhere reasonably nice.

Another subject: My daughter's cooking skills are progressing nicely, albeit I committed a faux pas the other night. I came home to a dinner she had prepared, and she brought out my plate. She said: Guess what it is.

I carved off a piece, ate it and asked: Tuna?

Nope. It was chicken. Sauteed in orange soda. And it was good. I'm not just saying.

Not to leave you in suspense (read the next post down), but I took care of the engagement form. It wasn't easy - entirely my fault - because I don't like to ask directions (yeah, I'm a guy) and I'm not the brightest bulb in the lamp.

So I left my capacious, teak-lined, climate-controlled second-floor newsroom office and went outside, because I thought the weddings dept. would be somewhere in classified advertising, which is in a whole nother building in the sprawling N&O downtown campus.

I missed class. ad. completely and found myself in circulation, like I haven't worked here for 11 years. I realized my error and went one floor up, and was told, nuh-uh, it's in retail. Came back into my building, went down the hall to retail, grabbed an advertising manager I know and was taken by the hand to the right desk. Where a very nice woman made a copy of my driver's license (which is a good idea, to verify that I'm Hilary's dad) and took all the stuff I had to deliver.

First possible pub date is a week from Sunday. Some time in the next few days we'll get a proof of the announcement and pore over it to make sure it is just so, which I'm sure it will be, because these folks handle a jillion engagement and wedding announcements a year and have a system.

In the matter of Hilary Butler Barkin and Travis Alan Holtzhauser:

I have been assigned an important task to carry out, the delivery of the engagement forms and photo to the Special Occasions Department of The News & Observer. This task was actually assigned a fortnight ago, but I haven't discharged my responsibilities because of varying and sundry distractions. I have been reminded about this several times, and but the forms remained on my desk at home. This morning, I remembered to gather up this stuff and I have penciled it in for 1 p.m. on my daily to-do list.

I don't have many formal tasks in this process, but this is a big one, and I will endeavor to complete it forthwith.

An interesting historical footnote that I realized while reading the forms: Typical of weddings in this place we live, where people have come from all over the country in the past two decades, none of the grandparents came from the Triangle, although my daughter's grandparents on my wife's side lived a couple of counties east of here, where the Butler family has farmed for generations. Hilary's maternal grandparents lived in Clinton, N.C., where her widowed grandmother still resides.

My folks, her paternal grandparents, both deceased, were from Newton, Mass., although dad lived in recent years in Rochester, N.Y., near my sister. Travis' maternal grandparents live in Meadville, Pa., and his paternal grandparents, both deceased, lived in Geneva, Pa. Let future historians sort through all this when they chronicle the background of my future grandchild, when he or she is administered the oath as the 53rd president (approximately) of the United States on the steps of the Capitol at noon, Jan. 20, 2061. I will be 107 years old and plan to attend if I can get off work.

Thad Ogburn, the features editor, has decided to run in Tuesday's Life, etc. section excerpts from this blog.  One of the differences between how I write for this blog and how I write for the paper is that I am somewhat less inhibited when I blog.  So good luck on this experiment, Thad.

By the way, for those of you keeping score at home, I have lost around 5 pounds by the bathroom scale, which is not very accurate but is encouraging. I'll try the one at the gym tonight. I can't say that I haven't snacked once or twice, but I have kept it down. And I have been going to the gym and Sunday I gave the yard its ceremonial last mow for the year, I hope, so that was my Sunday workout.  My lunches have devolved from a 12-inch tuna from Subway to a 3-ounce can of tuna and "light" yogurt. I have no one to blame here but myself.