Just a couple of weeks back, my little baby girl got married. I say my “Little Baby Girl”— and I certainly mean it.

Although they are all grown up, have successful careers, own homes and makes decisions based on what they have grown to understand as right and wrong, Niki and her big sister Angie, will always be my little baby girls, and there is nothing that will ever change that — this is where all the rough and gruff dads of daughters acknowledge their affirmation with a single, firm nod of the head and a mumbled, yet determined, “Damn straight!”

I got a great son-in-law out of the deal. When Chris called me and asked my blessing, I could barely voice my approval due to shrieking like a little kid at a water park. If, over the years, I have been able to cultivate any sort of crusty exterior, that façade crumbled like the graham cracker crust of a cheesecake. His proposal would come in a few days and involved being stopped at the top of the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier in Chicago. This time lag forced me to remain cool and calm for the next several days (read: eternity) as I waited for Niki’s call to announce the great news — instead of me calling her every few hours, just to ask, “What’s new?”

The wedding and reception were amazing, even with the ring fumble on the handoff from the best man to the minister. But, hey…that is the sort of thing that people will still be talking about on their 50th anniversary.

No wedding is complete without the snapshots during the reception. Here’s Mike with what looks like three slices of wedding cake. Here’s Rickie looking dapper like Boston Blackie in his fedora. Here’s Jeff and Michelle, dancing. That guy should be banned from all wedding dance floors — he made all the other guys look like they were roller blading through a swamp.

Before the guests arrived, the groom and his entourage were sequestered away in an upper room with a flat screen TV. It was an amazing day as Michigan, Michigan State, Notre Dame, and the Ohio State all won their first game of the season — and Niki and Chris got married.

While the groom and groomsmen were enjoying life as it would never be again, I was impounded in another part of the building, just outside the chapel doors. Cooling my heels, as I anxiously awaited further instructions, I watched the photographer fiddle with his lenses, flashes and other equipment meant for capturing the most precious moments in time. Suddenly, I felt arms reach around me and give me a gentle hug. I turned and saw my Niki, dressed in white from head to floor, beaming a smile that could stretch across Lake Michigan. Every muscle in my face contorted in unison in a feeble attempt to retain composure. Floodgates burst, Vesuvius erupted, I threw my arms around my little baby girl and cried like I did the day she was born.

God has never made a woman more, beautiful, more radiant, than my little baby girl at that exact moment.

This is where every crusty father, who has had the honor of escorting his daughter down the aisle, gets to mumble, “darn straight!”

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.