My heart
sent nervous pangs throughout my chest and vein of my neck on Saturday morning,
April 14th, when I had no reason to be. I, as the best man to my brother,
was not getting married. There will little organizational issues I had to deal
with aside from making myself look presentable, just short of James Bond classy
in my tuxedo. By the actual wedding day, if planned accordingly, the cogs and
wheels turn themselves with people in their proper places, if not a minute or
two late. Perhaps the fact that the box that held Heather’s wedding was in my possession
from the previous night made me realize how unorganized I could be despite my best
efforts and that I could be the cause for ruining the special day. “And now the
rings,” the preacher would say. There I would stand, at the head of all the
groomsmen, in panic sweats as I realized I left it at home. With compulsion
reserved for medication, I checked every half hour that the ring inside that tiny
felt box was in one of my pockets.
I had then
another concern prop up the previous night which was far more of a logical
concern. My allergies had given birth to another painful sinus infection,
straining my vocal chords, dizzying my head enough to cancel my impartial Wednesday
night lecture on economic justice, not being able to truly declare why my
salary as a teacher is pathetic. Mid way
through my lecture and class discussion about the 1970’s on Thursday night at
the College of Lake County, my voice begins to strain and then, like someone
flipped a switch, my voice dropped out. My greatest concern was not that I
wouldn’t finish my lecture; screw feeling guilty, I’ve taught feeling ill more
times that I can count. I had a great fear, with every painful sip of cold
water to sooth my throat, that I wouldn’t be able to deliver what my family
expected to be a good best man speech at the reception.
These
concerns were a microcosm of the larger truth about the wedding – the ceremony
and the reception can become more about everyone else and less about the bride
and groom. Though they are afforded the opportunity to be selfish and showered
with affection, hopefully earned from having good hearts and minds, weddings
are parables for life – things that are to go as planned will be just as
wonderful, backwards, and go better than most circumstances of life. I cannot
stand bridezillas who scream about how a perfect day will be ruined by the
slightest miscue or how a groom can be a useless sack in a fine suit who can’t
wait to get drunk at the wedding. My brother Ryan and his now wife, Heather,
could not be more opposite than these archetypes. Only so much can be controlled. We have to
step on the train eventually. When Ally calmed me down the previous day and I imbibed
the borderline safe levels of anti-biotics and Aleve, I knew still I had to
deliver in a few hours when I was called up for my speech.
Heather had
used her creative flair and passion for American and Victorian antiquity to write
everything from the calligraphy on the wedding placards to setting the ceremony
at Lake Forest College, her alma mater. The five groomsman and I, along with my
father and Heather’s Dad, Bill, we assembled ourselves across the street at the
turn of the 20th Century mansion, the Glen Rowan House. Our clumsy
fingers fumbled around with the flowers we attempted to pin to our tuxedo
jackets without drawing blood. Many minutes of pacing the mansion followed, our
eyes on Ryan, trying to make him laugh through his obvious nervousness of
taking the plunge he had so looked forward to. The same I’m sure was happening as
my future sister-in-law collected herself with her reliable bridesmaids in the
choral room next to the chapel. We classy gents felt as if we could punch a
notch in our masculine cards with the 15 year Highland Park scotch we
ceremoniously drank and toasted Ryan with. Ryan, Kyle and I all had a good
laugh when my other brother, Eric, mistakenly downed the scotch, forgetting that
the peaty deliciousness was meant to be sipped.
There in the
Lily Reid Holt Memorial Chapel, under elaborate dark wooden beams and original
Louis Tiffany glass, Ryan and Heather’s smiles rubbed off on all of us. My
friend Nick told me my Dad and Heather’s father were tearing up – even tough
men cry at the weddings of their children all you hard asses out there.
“And now the
rings,” the preacher said after his long parable of Jesus Christ with the
wine at a wedding in Canaan.
Delicately
from my pocket, I held the ring out for Ryan to take. Kim, the maid of honor,
handed Ryan’s black and gold ring over. To their credit, the bridesmaids with their
hair styled and light golden dresses shimmering, caught the eye of every guy in
the room. Chad, who stood behind me, amongst the rest of us chic gentlemen,
likely made an impression in his Army dress uniform he wore from the airport he
flew into that morning. My first stressful responsibility that day
accomplished, I noticed how I could not stop smiling as the vows were sealed
and Heather Jean Putman became Heather Titus and my brother married to the love
of his life.
The
reception was held at the Highland Park Community House, ten minutes down
Sheridan Road from the chapel. I arrived late having to drive my Mother (who
looked quite radiant), Eric, and the new Mr and Mrs Titus. Heather, stressed
from the ups and downs, calmed once we cued up irreverent jokes that fit her
sense of humor. Once arriving, I made a bee-line for Ally. We gallivanted
around, saying hello to friends and family at the twelve tables, and sipping
drinks from the open bar, a must at a wedding providing you know less than ten
percent of your family and friends won’t be taking off their button down shirts
by the time the dancing starts.
Bill Putman
gave a ten minute speech, loaded with delightful parables about the quality of
the character of my brother and how as a father he possesses all the love for
his first born. Our champagne glasses raised, we hundred and ten of us toasted
to the health, wealth and happiness of Ryan and Heather. The DJ, loud enough to
for all to hear with his mic, called out…
“And now I’d
like to welcome to the mic, the best man, Steven Titus.”
There was no
time to be nervous. In truth, I’ve spoken to thirty students a class for four
years now, as well as given a speech to over five hundred people – why should I
sweat? Stepping to the end of the bridal party table, I took the microphone.
Making a few lighthearted jokes about my strained voice, which had improved by
that point, I softened the crowd to my style. At my side, placed on the table,
I looked down on occasion at a pdf of my written speech which I loaded onto my smart
phone. The laughter was loud at stories of Ryan as a child and the impression
that the lovely Heather can make on a room. I cared about those as much as the
sincerity for my love of my one-of-a-kind brother and my friend, Heather. The
applause at the end was comforting, but the kind words of family, friends and
strangers (Heather’s side) of my speech filled me with satisfaction.
You ask if
this is also a food blog, what about the meal? I’ll feed you here baby birds.
Heather and Ryan had Froggys in Highwood cater the wedding in a buffet style.
The beef bourguignon was a tad salty, which wasn’t a carnal sin for the brown
sauce was delightful when soaked up with the rolls and large decorative pats of
butter. My favorite was the salmon, covered with a creamy orange butter sauce.
The carrots and zucchini were al dente, something I’m not a huge fan of as this
wasn’t a vegetable dip. I didn’t try the salad with the vinaigrette, which I
don’t regret too much. A light fettuccine with parsley, along with black pepper
covered potato hash were wonderful accompaniments to the dish, and appropriate
to burn off later with the dancing that sent many into shedding layers. I wish
I had tried a slice of the decadent white cake with a berry cream sauce. By
that time I was having too much fun dancing with guests my age. Ally, who
looked lovely in a blue dress and heels that made her taller for once, danced
our beginner salsa moves, even at one point making friends and guests laugh
with our Michael Jackson impersonations as Billie Jean played. I take my hat
off to Heather for she busted a move all night. Honors should also be doled out
to Nick who was breaking out dances that were funny, fierce and coordinated. I
remembered that was still much of the guy I had known since high school.
When did I
realize the bride and groom were finally united – when they took their first
dance. All our eyes on them, they slow waltzed to a tune I cannot recall. I was
smiling far too much by that point; and no, it wasn’t because of the open bar.
I didn’t start drinking until after the speech.
The other day,
on the balcony of my rented condo in Arlington Heights, I watched a few 747
jets soar into the skies from the nearby O’Hare airport. Ryan and Heather would
be on one of those flights to London for their honeymoon. I would be insincere if I said I wasn’t
jealous of their week there, followed by a week in Ireland. Having had spent
time in those lands, touched and matured by their magic, I leaned on my balcony
to watch a plane fly east, hoping Ryan and Heather would be loving things
together in the years ahead.
My best man speech
I am deeply honored to speak for my brother and his
lovely wife, my friend Heather, not only because Ryan chose me as his best man,
but because as the oldest brother, I think I know best.
There has been six years since Ryan and Heather
first met and started dating. Six years not so much of fairy tales, although
Ryan has been known to write a lovey-dovey poem now and then. There have been
six years of jokes, so off-the-wall, goofy and inside between them that we all
know we can hear their combined earsplitting laughter in another room. In these
six years, I know I have consistently had the pleasure of their company.
Long ago Ryan and Heather realized that it was not
so much important that they simply loved each other but loved things together.
Their honeymoon destination, of which I am insanely jealous of, is but a shared
tale of loving things together. We can see how they look at us now with love,
and how they will evolve for the benefit of each other.
Ryan – what fortune I have had in you being one of
my two beloved brothers. I doubt no one in here has a bad thing to say for your
kind, loving and all around easy going character. I have no fear for the day
you become a father, own your first home, accomplish your greatest dreams and,
first of all on this journey, take a step on that plane to Europe with Heather
as your wife.
Heather – Becoming friends with your brother’s
girlfriend and then fiancé could not be more opposite to the norm but somehow
you and I still have that friendship. I think of hammering out writing ideas
together, foraying into a new restaurant experience and being able to pick up a
conversation at the drop of a hat, even if it had been a month since we last
spoke. Your creative ingenuity and zest for adventure in life matches that true
affection you have for my brother more than I have ever seen. Thinking of you
now, I cannot help but to recall when Ryan took you out for drinks to meet a
few of his work buddies at CDW. “Guys…this is my fiancé, Heather!” Ryan said.
One look at her and in unison they spoke with a nod. “Nice work, Titus.”
I’m also reminded of when Ryan came to visit me when
I lived in Ireland five years back. In time, we took a three day trip to
London. After disembarking, we found our hostel. As we ambled around the
avenues of one of the greatest cities in the world, we found this little pub to
share a good scotch over around the midnight hour. “I think I want to marry
Heather,” he told me. “You know for sure?” I asked. Ryan held his glass up and
clinked mine with that smirk he’s had since a child. “Of course I do. She’s the
one.” To be honest, after all we had to drink that night, I am surprised I
remembered any of that conversation.
I mean, the funny thing about this is…I still see
Ryan at times as the same goofy guy who when he was three years old he walked
out of our sights at home and sauntered up into the neighbor’s kitchen to sit
at their table because he smelled cooked bacon. But of course, he evolved. It
shouldn’t have been a surprise to me that night for what he was in those first
couple of years – a selfless, clever and loving kid – all of those great
virtues would become magnified as a man. As I saw that night in London all the
way to today when they have become husband and wife, Ryan’s promise of love for
Heather continues. I find it fortunate to be in the pleasure of their company.
So I ask you all to raise your glasses for a toast –
to Ryan and Heather!
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