The 6th of August is a significant day for my sister, as it is her wedding anniversary. 28 years ago, back in 1994, she and Fran got married in Dallas. Due to my brother-in -aw being a Spaniard, there was a certain element of international excitement, not to mention language barrier, involved in the whole affair. Back then, Fran was still learning English, and his parents and brothers were even less adept in the language than he was.
Meanwhile, my parents (and just about everyone else in our family) were equally incapable in Spanish, and at the time, I reckoned we would have a very interesting experience. Church weddings, as this one was, require a lot of planning at the best of times. Weddings that involve people from different nationalities (and international travel) require even more planning. This created a lot of positive stress for my sister and parents. Being 24 years old, I was pretty skilled at avoiding getting too involved in things. I tended to stand around and make humorous comments about anything and everything. And there was a lot of material to choose from. Trying to keep names straight, for example. Making sure everyone understood what was happening, another.
Because the wedding was in August, in Texas, the heat played a pretty intense role. I questioned the timing, as, in my naive world, I could not for the life of me figure out why someone would want to put on dress clothes when it was over 40 degrees C outside.
Spanish speaking friends of the family, including Pablo, were enlisted to assist with the transatlantic event. My mother was particularly pleased that he would be helping out, as he was one of the few Spanish speakers who was more familiar with Spanish culture. Of course, there were other folks helping out, and as Central and South Americans, their language knowledge more than compensated for their lack of European Spanish culture. After all, there is only one SPAIN.
I am reminded about all of this because a friend of mine here in Frankfurt is also getting married on the 6th of August. She comes from Argentina, her fiance from Frankfurt, and they are pretty much going through a very similar situation to what our family went through years ago.
My friend has been organizing local housing and flats for her family and friends to stay at while they are here in Germany. Though I have met her brothers and father before, I only met the mother a couple of weeks back. The whole family has been arriving during the month of July.
As you can imagine, her side of the family speaks Spanish, with maybe a bit of English. Meanwhile, the guy’s parents speak German, and also with a bit of English. Fortunately, just like with my family, plenty of supportive multilingual friends are involved to help push through any language barriers.
For parents, I can only imagine how important it is to see their child get married, and the desire to express the pride, the love, the joy to the spouse and family is enormous. Doing that through gestures (and a ton of smiling) has to be an emotional situation. I watched my own mother gush and gush to Fran’s mom, all in English, and the emotions coming through could not quite translate, despite the obvious. Thus, I am really excited for Maria, Jonas, and their families.
Back to 1994, the 5th of August. As per tradition, we had a wedding rehearsal downtown at our church. My grandfather was going to officiate the ceremony, and my mom was explicitly clear that I was to arrive ON TIME to the rehearsal. Again, I questioned why someone thought trying to drive downtown in rush hour on a Friday afternoon was the best idea, but Pablo agreed to come pick me up and drive us both to the rehearsal.
I had been told to dress nice casual, which was the way of expressing “business casual” at the time. This sort of meant that boots and jeans was not an option. Somewhat lacking in apparel for such occasions, I dug out some khaki pants along with a button down shirt with stripes which were kind of a teal and pink. (Yes, thank you once again J Crew for some great times). And for those of you who are completely bewildered by my choice of clothes that evening, I would point out that my dad was wearing a paisley print shirt, and just about every other guy there was wearing something very similar. It was the early 90s. What else can I say?
Pablo had the good sense to pull a beer out of the console of his car and hand it to me, and we both drank our beers as we got stuck in a traffic jam. What should have been a 10-15 minute drive turned into more like 25-30 minutes. This meant, we walked into the church sanctuary very late. Had Pablo not charmed everyone with his greetings, I would have gotten my ass kicked by my mother, grandfather, and probably several other people.
The rehearsal itself was pretty straightforward, though with the translations things took just a bit longer. Once we were finished and clear on how things would (should) go the following day, we all jumped into our vehicles, and drove to the location of the rehearsal dinner: Casa Rosa.
This restaurant was a family favorite, and we had been going there for years. It was only fitting to have a private dinner (for the families, wedding party, and close friends) there, and it was amazing as ever. We used the upstairs room reserved for such events, and from time to time during the course of the evening, a few of us would run downstairs to have a shot or two from the bar.
As one can imagine, it was a festive evening, and the tequila helped inspire us.
The adults in the wedding party were conscious of the following day, so things started to wind down at a reasonable hour. It was not so late, but it was not that early, either. My memory eludes me now; I no longer remember how young McKee knew when to arrive at the restaurant. Either we planned ahead of time (likely), or I called him from the payphone in the restaurant (equally likely). Regardless, suddenly he was there in traditional attire: rugby shirt, khaki shorts, and duck shoes. Dressed more for a casual evening out, he remained downstairs at the bar as we wrapped things up.
Indeed, the restaurant was starting to close down, and most of the party had gone in the homeward direction. Chris, Pablo, and myself elected it was time for a few beers at another venue. Someone suggested the Green Room in Deep Ellum, which was a place that we frequented before and after shows at Trees or some of the other well loved venues.
The Green Room was a pretty trendy bar, which attracted various types of people: not only the group of people who had just discovered the scene in Deep Ellum but also a fair amount of the old timers who had been spending countless nights on the dark streets, just a few years before.
Inside, the place was cozy, intimate, loud music playing the background, and was a great place to hang out. But the real appeal of the Green Room was its rooftop bar and terrace. Once you pushed your way through the crowd downstairs and walked the two flights (where you always met someone new and interesting) up to the deck, you suddenly had a nice view of downtown Dallas, and the chance of a little breeze.
What made this night particularly memorable is that it was simply not nearly as hot as it should have been. August in Dallas is usually a freaking nightmare. Plus 40 Degrees always, and the nights only cool off to 30. So, hot as shit during the day time when the sun is shining, and at night still hot as shit, only without the sun.
On the evening of 5 August, 1994, it was just pleasant. There was a breeze, and to use the German expression, it was sehr angenehm. The three of us were lucky to find a vacant table right at the edge of the roof, and we enjoyed several beers together, just chatting, as we always have done. Chris, himself, had gotten married the year before, and was a subject matter expert on all the stuff I had been involved with in recent days with the family.
Hands down, one of the best nights that I have ever had. The company was brilliant, the theme was exciting, and the scene and the weather were cooperating.
I spent a lot of time in Deep Ellum back then, and one thing I never forget is that feeling of “feeling” sober, despite the amount of alcohol. Sure, the alcohol had an effect, but just complimented the experience. I would have gladly continued the evening (past the point of no return), but we wisely called it a night at the right time, so as to be reasonably fresh for the following day, where Pablo and I had to tux up and do the necessary.
So yeah, I am going to be feeling a lot of warm fuzzies on Saturday the 6th, but am choosing to hold a special place in my heart for that night before. Cheers Pablo and Chris. Vielen Dank.
And congratulations to my sister and my brother in law, as well as my Bornheim friends.
See you out there
