When we heard there was going to be a wedding, the first thing I thought was: How am I going to convince a couple of teenage boys to get dressed up for the night? But it turned out that it would be the beginning of an adventure involving bow ties, elastic and Kohl’s cash.
Oh, and dancing.
The shopping
I was looking forward to spending time trying on outfits with the guys—but when we arrived four-abreast at the men’s department at Kohl’s, the rest of them were already over it.
“How long will this take?” Nelson asked.
“Minutes,” I said.
It was me and Tim and the boys, Kendall, 16, and Nelson, 15. I knew Tim would need as much help as the others, and I acted a little put-out about it, but underneath I was pleased. They all needed me, at least when it came to polyester.
First off, we set up camp in the dressing room. There was no one around with a stroller, and for that, I was thankful. It’d been quite a while since I’d commandeered a changing room with my children, the long bench a perfect place to sort clothes and brawls.
My heart glowed with nostalgia.
Kendall had a clear directive: white shirt and paisley bow tie. I was taken aback. A month prior, the shopping trip for homecoming attire had been rough. Today, he was a changed man, decisive in his fashion choices, uncertain only in his neck size.
We scouted the shelves for white shirts and rounded up two or three that might be his size. I cursed not writing down his neck size last time. Because it cost me precious clout with my other two clients, Tim and Nelson. And while we unfolded a shirt built for war (pins, cardboard collar, plastic bag), those two went out hunting on their own.
Choices made
Nelson turned up with a plaid flannel kind of shirt and brown canvas pants with elastic at the ankles. This was his look. And he was committed. It was, apparently, what motocross guys wear for casual garb. He wanted to wear it for the wedding, and again, later, on his dirt bike.
Finally, I relented. It was a tad casual, yes, but, as Nelson pointed out later, he was the only one who wouldn’t need an iron.
Next up, Tim. I thought I still had a chance with him, but when I jokingly offered up a blue shirt with tiny white flowers on it, his eyes lit up.
“I’ll try it on,” he said.
“Are you serious?” I worried that I’d introduced a bad apple to my own bushel.
The boys began campaigning heavily for the blue shirt.
“See? The boys like it,” Tim said.
“Who are you?” I asked, wondering how this would come together. We had Kendall in a formal bow tie and suspenders, Nelson in a dirt shirt, and Tim in, well, I didn’t really know what.
For being their fashion consultant, they hadn’t heeded my advice at all. But I pretended otherwise, a mom and her three favorite boys on a rare shopping trip together, out on a Monday night.
The wedding
Next, the wedding itself. I figured I could offer a few tips to them there at least—I love to dance and so does Tim. My goal was to get them to soak in the full wedding experience, an age-old ritual kind of thing. Sitting with the old folks, bored through the wedding toasts, forced to dance by their mother. I was excited for them. I had endured many a U.P. wedding at their age, and I would enjoy watching them suffer at the hands of tradition.
“Your new outfits must be seen on the dance floor for one song,” I said.
“Fine, sure,” they said, none of us aware of what was to come.
The dancing
The dancing began at 8 p.m., and Tim and I were on the dance floor. We don’t care if we are the first or only couple out, nor that we aren’t that talented. We dance!
And here came our sons, Nelson, unwrinkled, and Kendall, bow tie askew. It looked like they would meet our agreement head on—one and done.
Or so I thought.
Because they seemed to actually like it.
After an obligatory dance around the floor with grandparents, mom, dad, aunt and cousin, things began to settle out:
Nelson made cameo appearances throughout the night, arriving when he liked a song, dancing with his hands in his pockets, offering up support to those around him with a clap or a shove. We’ve always called him the “Emphasizer,” and he stood by his name.
Kendall, meanwhile, decided to apprentice himself to his father. Every move his father made, he made. His father put one hand in the air, picked up the same-side leg and said to Kendall, “Now just bounce.”
Sage advice.
Then, Kendall started showing us the latest moves, including the Shoot (lots of kicking that I could not do) and the Woah (where we pretended to wrench a steering wheel to avoid a collision).
After that, dance inventions starting coming, and fast. Kendall put together his father’s bounce and the Woah and asked Nelson to “hike” him a phantom football, which he caught with a tuck and turn, all in time to the music. Next, I made him learn how to twirl a dance partner (albeit to a fast song) which turned into a bit of a rodeo, during which my shoulder gave out.
It was a riot. We danced until our feet were sore and Kendall popped off his bow tie. At one point, I took off my heels altogether, laying them to rest, with a moment of silence, in the garden outside. (RIP my favorite pair of sandals super-glued together one last time that very morning.) I also spent a long moment yearning for my chiropractor.
In the end, the shopping and the dancing and the celebration of a marriage (Sam and Riley’s!), was a true adventure.
And, despite my plans, our adventure turned out even better than expected.