Wedding Bell Blues

Before I type up this entry, I wanted to respond to the anonymous person who wondered how a four-year old has homework. Trust me, we are not sadistic parents who send our young ones to a military-type school for purposes of whipping them into shape. On the day in question, I believe my son's homework was to bring something in to school that started with the letter "B". Not a big deal, really.


This past weekend, my sister got married. My little sister. My baby sister. My sister who needs love and protection and etc. Despite the fact that she's 28, despite the fact that she's a very independant person, despite the fact that her fiancee (now husband) is a wonderul guy, there's still a very small part of me that hates to see it happen. Good things aren't supposed to change. Good things are supposed to last forever. (Then again, sometimes good things get better.)

Rather than ruminate on the wedding (which was fabulous), I figure I'll just reprint the speech I gave. Why the hell not? This is *my* blog. I'm allowed to be selfish on it.

Oh, and one other thing I discovered this weekend is that giving a speech in front of 150 people is very different than talking in front of a class of 10.

Here's what I said:

I’d like to tell you a little bit about the bride. Rachel Heather Strieb…Alvini…. is the result of a carefully planned and executed scientific experiment that began over 28 years ago. She is a strong woman, independent and resourceful, well-able to take care of herself in the world. I can now reveal, on behalf of my brother and with all due respect to our parents, that Ron and I are taking full and complete credit for her many virtues.

We began our plan early on, when the subject was at a very young age. I distinctly remember overhearing Dad make the phone call to Nanny, asking her to come babysit so that he and Mom could go to the hospital. The baby was coming, and the ramifications were immediately clear: Ron and I were going to have someone else to beat up on.

It couldn’t happen right away, of course. Even at 7 and 5 years old, we knew there was no satisfaction in wrestling and pinning a newborn to the ground. It wasn’t long, however, before we found ways to test her regardless. We discovered that at a few months old, Rachel could belly crawl commando-style across the floor, exerting much effort to do so, if properly motivated. Motivation came in the guise of a big, clear ball with a sparkly plastic butterfly spinning in the center. The thing was at least as big as her head, and certainly too big for her to grab. But it was enticing. We’d place the ball about 5 feet in front of her and Rachel would spend 10 minutes working her way across the carpet, huffing and puffing, finally reaching out to the ball, only to have it slip through her fingers and roll further away. Another 10 minutes of entertainment ensued. Hours later, she would finally fall asleep from her exertions, mere inches from the toy. This is how Ron and I taught her determination.

As she got older and spent more time traveling in the car with us, she found out, as all youngest children do, that there is a hierarchy in the back seat. The smallest sits on the hump. Always. Without exception. Several years of this taught her gracious acceptance of necessary evils.

Only one thing breaks that hierarchy, and that is when the oldest child graduates to the front seat. Rachel wasn’t happy with this and often complained. “Why do you get to sit in front?” she’d ask. “Because I’m the oldest,” I’d say. The she’d ask, “When can I sit up front?” And I’d answer, “When you’re the oldest.” And so, of course, Rachel learned patience.

Then, of course, in the days before remote controls, little sisters made an excellent substitute. “Rachel, get up and change the channel.” “Rachel, grab me a soda.” “Rachel, all that Halloween candy will make you sick. Give it to me.” This phase of the experiment was carefully designed to educate her about leadership and how to listen to others.

Of course, we also labored to try to teach her how to appreciate a sophisticated and subtle sense of humor. The most memorable attempt was when we convinced her that she was left on the doorstep and the law said Mom and Dad were required to take her in. I also pointed out to her that the name “Rachel” really didn’t belong to her, as Mom and Dad had planned it for me. Since I turned out to be a boy, Ron got next dibs. The only reason she got it is because no one else wanted it. Although she didn’t seem to find the obvious comedic value in these examples, she managed to develop a sense of humor regardless. We theorize this is probably an inbred trait of younger siblings everywhere, in an effort to deal with the older ones.

So you see, Rachel, it was all part of the grand plan and it was all for your own good.

And although it falls to the brothers to protect their baby sister, eventually she grows up. Now that the experiment is complete, we can safely set Rachel loose into the wild. We feel safe doing so because she has found someone with as much daring, independence, intelligence, patience, and caring as she herself possesses. We didn’t think it possible for there to be someone like that, but there was and somehow they found each other. Billy is an astounding person, and I can’t say enough how glad I am to have him as a brother. The experiment is over, it’s a success…and Billy, she’s all yours. May the best day of your past be the worst day of your future.