published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: A Tribute to Moms
The bell rang and I was free. I grabbed my sweater from the cloakroom, shouldered my red plaid book satchel, and followed the line out the door to the waiting yellow school bus. The day was over and the other kids were laughing, but I was carrying a burden heavier than a book bag. All the way home I sat in silence, tears brimming. At the door of my house, the dam broke.
Thankfully, in this mid-fifties household, my mom was there to gather me in reassuring arms and gently probe to find the splinter in my soul. She consoled while I cried until at last I was ready to talk.
“Each class is giving a play at school,” I sniffled, “and…and the first grade is doing Tom Thumb’s wedding!”
“That’s nice, honey. Do you have a part?”
“Yes…yes…I do.” The heaving sobs returned.
“Are you nervous, dear?”
“No, Mom, I’m old.” More tears!
“I have to be OLD... and I’m ONLY six!”
At last the soggy truth was told. All the parts had been given and I got the role nobody wanted…Mother of the Bride!
The only bride I knew was my mom. She had worn a pretty white dress in the picture on the wall in her bedroom. I knew and loved her mother, Mimi, my only grandmother, but I was NOT ready to be like her…at least not for a very long time. She made great cookies but she was a little bit plump, wore glasses and had gray hair! This was not the part I had imagined for my dramatic debut!
Mom’s reassuring smile melted my heart. Her gentle response
could have won an Oscar.
“Marcia, honey, you don’t understand! You have been given the most important part!”
“What do you mean, Mom?” I was astonished. How could this be?
“You and your friends don’t realize it, but the Mother of the Bride has the honor of being the last person seated before the ceremony begins. She is so important that after she is seated, no guests are allowed to enter the sanctuary…the doors are closed. If anyone is late, they have to stay outside.”
My mouth dropped open in awe of my new role.
“Come with me,” she beckoned and I mutely followed.
We walked into her bedroom and over to the dresser where she invited me to share the bench. This was a grown-up place. Holy ground. As I marveled at the invitation, savoring the essence of face powder and Chanel #5, she opened her jewelry box, pulled out a tray, and retrieved the most brilliantly sparkling diamond bracelet I had ever seen. I could hardly breathe as she began to fasten it around my small wrist.
“You’ll have to be careful,” she cautioned, “because this bracelet is far too big for you and it will easily fall off your arm. But I’m going to let you borrow it for the performance. Mimi wore it when I got married. It is a Mother of the Bride bracelet.”
“Oh, Mom! This is so beautiful. And you would let me wear it?”
“You’re the Mother of the Bride, aren’t you? And Mothers of the
Bride are very special.”
“Are the diamonds real, Mom?”
“No honey, they are rhinestones, but it is expensive costume jewelry so you must take very good care of it.”
“Oh, I will, Mom!” I said, visibly relieved.
The night of the play I faintly remember that I wore a long dress…and I’m sure it was very pretty, probably blue, and probably made by Mimi. They did seat me last. But the thing I remember most was walking down that aisle staring at my bracelet, watching it sparkle, feeling the weight of its significance and the honor I had been given to wear it. I decided right then that the role no one wanted was maybe the best role of all.
Fast forward fifty years. After a six month engagement, my only daughter married in June. Weeks of joyous preparation culminated in a mid-summer night’s dream. And for the second time in my life, I played the Mother of the Bride. This time there were only tears of joy. Hair color now hides the gray, Weight Watchers shaved the pounds, and contact lenses have long ago replaced spectacles. Once again my dress was long and pretty, rose instead of blue, but not made by Mimi. She and Mom were watching from heaven. I knew it the moment I snapped the clasp on my bracelet, as brilliant as ever. It finally fit and so did the role. I still believe it is the best role of all.
Published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: A Tribute to Moms, Copyright 2008