Dangerous Roads
By Christina Hergenrader

1

Dads Wedding

Only about forty guests came to my Dad’s wedding. I guess that’s because he and his new wife, Diane, planned it in like three weeks, and they didn’t have time to invite a lot of their friends. Or maybe they didn’t even want a lot of people there. Who knows? I haven’t really talked to my dad since he got engaged last month.

Their wedding was at Grace Christian, the church I’ve gone to since I was born. The groomsmen were me, Preston (my real brother), and Zak (my new stepbrother). We all had to wear matching tuxedos. I fidgeted through the whole ceremony because the neck on mine was too tight. Sweat dripped down my face and into the collar of my white shirt so I had to keep turning my head from our pastor, who was preaching about eternal love. The sweat was for two reasons: first, I was wearing a tuxedo on 

August 1, the hottest day of the summer in Texas, one of the hottest states in the country. Second, I was watching my dad marry a woman I didn’t know or like.

Elisabeth, Diane’s daughter, was the only bridesmaid. She stood too close to her mom so it looked like Dad was marrying two women—Diane in a white pantsuit, and Elisabeth in a long blue dress. Every time I tugged my collar away from my neck, Elisabeth glanced over at me.

I couldn’t help squirming though; it was all too uncomfortable. And I really hate how itchy tuxes are—luckily this is only the third time I’ve had to wear one.  The first was when I was best man in Preston’s wedding four years ago, then to prom this past May, and now today. Preston’s wedding was almost as uncomfortable as this one because he’d insisted my mom and her new husband come to the ceremony. The whole day Mom was scowling at Dad. I learned my lesson from that and didn’t invite her to my high school graduation two months ago. Just easier to avoid her than have all that tension at the ceremony. My dad was there and that was enough.

Pastor Abel smiled at the happy couple and said, “May the promises you made today in front of God be the focus of your marriage. You may kiss your bride, Jack.”

I turned away from them and started toward the congregation. While trailing Preston from the church, I closed my eyes and chanted leaving for college tomorrow . . . leaving for college tomorrow to myself.

 After the nerve-wracking wedding, the reception was a relief. Diane loves seafood, so there was a buffet of shrimp, crab, and scallop dishes. By the time I sat down with my full plate, the guests had started giving toasts. Only about twenty of us were in the restaurant, but before I knew it, like ten guests had raised their glasses to the newlyweds. Halfway through my crab dip, I realized that I should probably join in . . . being the groom’s son and all.

But then Zak, who was sitting at the next table, stood up. “Mom . . .” He held his champagne flute toward her as she beamed. “Thanks for picking someone this time that I can actually look up to.” Our friends and relatives booed at his bad joke. My dad’s tall—about six feet—like me, while Zak’s only 5’9”.

“No, seriously. I wish y’all lots of happiness together and, Mom, may Jack now be the man in your life who shows you it’s normal to sit on the couch for 12 straight hours and watch hockey.” This time everyone clapped at my dad’s obsession with the sport while Diane playfully booed her son.

Copyright 2004 Christina Buehring Hergenrader. Published by Concordia Publishing House.  All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Concordia Publishing House.