“You should speak at the reception,” my wife says. “It’s tradition, she should have that.” Your marriage, however, is not traditional. You, my daughter, are marrying another woman. The old cliches about father-of-the-bride speeches do not apply, though I desperately want to say something that you and your lovely bride, my new daughter-in-law, can remember and cherish.
Your mother and I are so proud when you read your vows to each other. It’s a small civil ceremony, yet the highest priest in the tallest cathedral could not have said anything more profound or moving. Whatever hand-wringing the church might do over the prejudices of its faith, you both expressed something fundamental to being human; you asserted the ancient rite of love and commitment, around long before the church wrapped it in sanctimony.
Your mother and I now feel all the same protective parental urges for our new daughter as we do for you. You have expanded our family in a unique way and we love you for it. And if the persistent religiosity of my upbringing pushed me away from the church, I am happy: that journey has allowed me to welcome your bride into our family without hesitation, doubt or regret.
“Are you going to speak?” your mother asks. I look around the room at your young friends, millennials from all imaginable backgrounds. Do they want to listen to me? I take a knife and ting my glass. I am taken aback at the clarity of the sound, followed by immediate silence and attention – they were waiting for this. Of course, it’s tradition. I stand up. I am the proud father of two brides. I start to speak.
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