I just finished watching “Father of the Bride,” not the original, but the remake with Steve Martin. I love everything about this movie. The house is charming, the story is sweet, and in my opinion Steve Martin pulls off an outstanding performance.  

I’m reduced to tears every time Annie opens that damn cappuccino machine from her Dad and he says, “Supposed to be a good one. That’s what they said at the store. It’s uh, top of the line. Makes great foam.” Annie says, “I couldn’t love anything more.” George softly replies, “My feelings exactly.”  Sob.  

Then there is the scene the night before the wedding, Annie is shooting hoops in the yard, and it begins to snow.  She says, “Oh Dad, this is going to cost you more money.” George replies, “No. It’s just… I know I’ll remember this moment, for the rest of my life.” I never tire of this movie.  

Of course I’m reminded of my own wedding day and the mishaps I heard about long after the honeymoon was over and the gifts were unwrapped. I learned that my sweet dad accidentally caught my going-away dress in the greasy hinge of the car door. (I don’t think he wanted me to go away)  He said to my horrified mother, “Just grab another one from the house.”  My cousin Karen ran crying to the cleaners, and by the grace of God they had that dress ready before the last dance, free of charge!  I never suspected a thing, boldly driving off into the sunset, blue dress blowing gracefully in the breeze, waving goodbye to our guests.   

I think about our beautiful ceremony at the old Santa Clara Mission on the campus of Santa Clara University.  There was a light rain falling that day, it was early evening, and the mission was lit up with hundreds of glowing votive candles. It was magical. I remember my parents, one on each arm, escorting me down the long aisle to my waiting groom. My dad lifts my veil and kisses me good-bye. Larry takes my hand and with shaky voices we exchange the traditional wedding vows, we turn to face our three hundred guests, and the priest announces us as, “Mr. and Mrs. Oreglia,” for the first time.  

I’ve been married now for almost thirty-three years (November 19th is our anniversary), as I watch Steve Martin sipping champagne at the end of the movie, I can‘t help but consider how I might remake my wedding day. Would I stop the rain, save the dress, or change my wedding vows? Not a chance…hum…the vows?  To love, honor, and cherish until our dying day. I say to the man who has bravely honored our vows for the last thirty-three years, “I couldn’t love anyone more and I’ll remember that day for the rest of my life.”