Ryan's Dad

October 28 is my wedding anniversary. In this case, it’s my 21st anniversary. I’m not really sure what you get for 21, but it’s worth noting that our marriage is now old enough to legally drink.

We had a great wedding and a great reception as well. And we had one of those things happen that you usually see in 60s sitcoms and the like.

But rather than tell you about it myself, I’m going to leave that to David Penticuff, my old friend from high school/best man/brother-in-law…

Excerpt from the Muncie Evening Press, dated June 7, 1993:

…From the standpoint of pure ability, I am much more suited as a groom than, let’s say… best man.

My brother-in-law Tony and his lovely wife Sherry can attest to this, as can the innocent bystanders who attend Emanuel Church of the Nazarene on this city’s south side.

Sherry is Donna’s sister and Tony is a buddy of mine going back to junior high school. They met and were married while Donna and I were still in courtship.

When they decided to tie the knot, Tony selected me to be his best man. It seemed natural and I ejhoyed the role.

I did little things, like renting a Lincoln Town Car to drive them away from the church and staying with Tony throughout the hours leading up to the ceremony, seeing to it his hair was trimmed and that everything ran on time.

But when you break down the duties of best man, there’s really only one thing that is important — hand the guy getting married the wedding ring at the appropriate time.

I did not do this because folks, I lost the ring.

This is where the story starts to get real ugly. I had placed the ring, which, of course, was expensive, on my left pinky finger, so as not to lose it. After arriving at the church, it slid off that sweating pinky and lost itself in about 2000 square yards or so of carpeting or grass or gravel or whatever else was on that quarter block where I’d traveled.

It’s strange what goes through your mind at such times. Regressing backwards to happier moments in childhood is the automatic reaction. But I forced myself out of that mode before winding up in a fetal position on one of the church pews.

I told a couple of trusted friends there what happened and we searched.

In the video tape of the pre-ceremony goings on, everyone can be seen happily and excitedly posing and preparing, while my chalk-pale face was lookikng down and around and my hands repeated ran through every pocket in my tuxedo.

If this happens to you, be aware that you cannot keep this sort of thing a secret. By 20 minutes before the alter turned to ground zero, everyone but the bride knew.

What with the natural nervousness of someone about to be married for the first time, Sherry was the last to be told for fear she might wig out and literally explodee all over the bridesmaids. But she did not.

When I told some of the people there what had occurrred, their faces betrayed a weird mixed reaction of, “Oh, I feel so sorry for you — you idiot freak who has ruined everything.”

But Tony and Sherry were very kind to me. I think because they were in love, this was their wedding day and they were my friends. The ring really wasn’t all that important.

The wedding went on and we used the engagement ring as a facsimile for the lost jewelry. The couple left for their honeymoon cruise that night…

The story has a happy ending. Someone found the ring the next day in the grass outside the church. For the record, it never bothered me all that much. Like I said, it gave the ceremony a sitcom kind of feel. You know, like I was Major Nelson and Major Healy lost Jeannie’s ring.

Other happy ending — I got married. And I still am. 21 years later.