Yesterday afternoon, I walked my daughter down the aisle of her future husband’s church. She is my youngest daughter, the last to leave the nest. I slowed down, partly to be careful not to step on her wedding dress, which was as white as freshly fallen snow, but couldn’t be as clean and new as my daughter’s young heart. The slow walk allowed her to enjoy the moment a little more, and a church full of people who love her smiled at her, stole photos, and offered cheery praise as she passed by.
The pastor asked me a simple question: “Who gives this woman to marry this man?” He knew what he was supposed to say. I was supposed to say that I would let go of one of the most precious people in my life. Her future husband is a Christian. He loves my daughter very much and has promised to take care of her. Your entire family and your church have already welcomed my daughter into their lives. You should smile broadly, say what you were supposed to say, and let the happy event happen. However, at that moment, I was forced to see my daughter as a woman, not as my little one. My wife experienced that moment the day before.
Our house was full of out-of-town guests. Everyone took the opportunity to say something to my daughter while I was there. Mainly, I entertained the men, both young and old, while the women, young and old, showered my daughter with love. Suddenly, I heard my wife cry. She had just been happy the entire time she got ready for this wedding, and make no mistake, it was my wife who organized everything. My job was to pay the bills, not bother about how big those bills were, and not get involved in the details. Until I heard her cry, I didn’t realize the emotional burden my wife was carrying.
“My daughter walked out the door of my house,” my wife yelled at me, “and she will never come back as my little girl!” That night, her cousins and friends were giving a bachelorette party for my daughter. She would sleep with them and go directly to the place where the reception would take place after the wedding. This was where my wife and other women helped her and the young women at her wedding party with their hair and dressing. It was there that we would have the reception of his dream wedding celebration at the plantation home of the founder of Planter’s Peanut. She had come from that place and walked down the hall with me to where they asked me a question.
“Your mother and I,” it slipped from my mouth. I said it forcefully and had a smile on my face. I kissed my daughter on the cheek, placed her arm on her young man’s arm. I whispered, “Take care of her as well as I have.”
