Dad cried at child's wedding.

Byline: Frank Lepore

COLUMN: FRANKLY SPEAKING

I guess I'm just an emotional person, at least when it came to my son's wedding. Last week, I attended the wedding of a daughter of some friends. I was aghast at the very obvious emotional distress of the parents, until I went back many years to the marriage of my son. I have often been informed that I was a disaster at that wedding.

It must be true. Like many fathers and sons, we were, and are still, very, very close. When my son was a teenager and beyond, I was in attendance at nearly all of the sporting events in which he participated and even coached a few years. But our closeness goes much beyond that.

That was all on the surface. Underneath there was - and still is - a closeness which must play a major role in many father/son relationships. Which all brings me to the day when he was married.

Fortunately, my son married a lovely and personable young woman, a perfect match for both. He could not have made a better choice. But his marriage left an empty room in our home and an even emptier hole in my heart.

Even prior to the actual wedding ceremony, I knew I was in for a disastrous period: Never again to have my son home to discuss world affairs. Never again to make pancakes again for his breakfast. Never again to listen for him and his car zipping into our driveway. Never again to watch television together. Never again to peek into his room and note him sleeping soundly.

I was cautious and somewhat prepared for the actual ceremony. On the wedding day, the sun was just peeking through the clouds, but in general it was a somewhat cloudy day. I wore deep, very dark, sun glasses all day. And it was not to protect my eyes from the sun.

As the happy couple came back down the church aisle, I could not control my emotions any longer. I was losing my son, or so I thought. Behind the very dark sunglasses, tears started to pour out very profusely. My wife looked at me with no sympathy whatsoever. She just whispered, somewhat angrily, "Shape up."

My three daughters, ever the loving, considerate children, were in a church pew immediately behind ours. I turned to them for at least a little sympathy, and none was forthcoming. All three instead were laughing hysterically at my "temporary" discomfort and pointing accusatory fingers at me. Perhaps they thought it was payback for the few occasions when supposedly I showed favoritism toward my son. None of my daughters even offered me a tissue to "stem the tide." So much for them to be even mentioned in the will.

The truth is that my wife and daughters had to assist me back down the aisle as we were leaving the church. I must admit I was staggering a little, and on the verge of fainting.

When we arrived home, I summoned up the courage to look into my son's former room. It brought back a flood of memories, and I used the tissues again.

The redeeming factor in our relationship is that my son has now been married for many happy years, with a wonderful wife and three admirable children. I have finally thrown away the "weeping tissues" and adjusted to the situation.

My traitorous daughters, who laughed long and hard at my obvious discomfort at the church, two of them have sons who will be leaving the nest and going away to college. These mothers are already sobbing and keeping former rooms as shrines. I will be glad to give them tissues.

Frank Lepore is a freelance columnist and former longtime West Boylston educator.