This Little Life Of Mine - Chapter 27 The Second Best Day of My Life Thomas M Parsons

27. The Second Best Day of My Life

My family liked to tell the story of what happened on December 27, 1968. I much prefer to relate the events of December 28 of that year, but my parents and siblings were fond of the story of the day before.

It was a Friday, two days after Christmas, and relatively warm and wet in the midwest. It was the day my family and I were to drive the two hundred and ninety-eight miles that separate Detroit from Indianapolis. It was the day before Miss Linda Rhea Hubble would become Mrs. Thomas M. Parsons.

Much rain had fallen, but the temperature was above the freezing point when I walked down the front steps of our house in Lincoln Park, the house I had grown up in since we moved there in 1951 from Windsor. I was carrying a suitcase with the clothing and other belongings I would need for the trip to the wedding and the honeymoon to follow. My family thinks I was thinking about the honeymoon as I walked down those stairs. Now why would I be thinking about that!

My parents and my younger sister, Lynne, were to travel in my parents’ car. My older sister, Pat, and her husband, Bill, and some of their children would travel in their car. And Diane, my oldest sister, would be traveling with me. Her husband, Jack, did not usually attend family get-togethers.

Diane traveling with me had presented a problem to me, though. Diane’s cigarette habit could certainly put a damper on that honeymoon my family thought I was thinking about that morning. If Diane smoked in my car all the way to Indianapolis, my car would be a smelly place indeed for my new bride and me on our first trip as man and wife.

I presented this problem to Diane, who agreed she would not smoke in my 1967 Plymouth Valiant. There would be stops along the way, and she would take care of her addiction at those stops.

Now, lest the reader think that Diane was to accompany the new Mr. and Mrs. Parsons on their honeymoon, since she would not have a ride back to Lincoln Park, rest assured, she would have a ride. My parents would take her back in their car. The primary reason she was to ride with me was that my family wanted me to have company on the long trip.

I, who drove the five hours from Grand Rapids to Indianapolis several times in the summer just past to visit my fiancé and her family. I who was a veteran of many hours of driving alone back and forth between Grand Rapids and Lincoln Park. I who knew his way around the Interstate highways of Michigan and Indiana. But they thought I needed a companion on the trip. Maybe they thought this because of what happened as I walked down those porch stairs that morning.

I was carrying a suitcase of stuff that would accompany me on the trip, a suitcase that was destined for the trunk of my little blue Valiant, which Linda had nicknamed Hazel after an aunt of hers. Do not ask me why.

As I said, it had been raining, and the temperature was a little above freezing. But it was early morning, since we wanted to get on our way so we could be in Indianapolis in time to relax a little before the rehearsal. The temperature was above freezing everywhere except at the bottom of those front porch stairs.

I don’t think the story is worth the telling my family likes to give it. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I think if it had happened on a normal day, a day I was going to classes at Wayne State University, for example, or to work, they would not have made such a big deal about it. But since it happened on the day I was heading for my wedding, they thought it had the necessary elements of a good story.

As an English teacher, I have studied the elements of a story, and taught them, too. Plot, characterizations, setting, this story had none of these. Irony? Not a bit of it. Conflict? Climax? They do not exist in this story.

What happened you say? Well, I was heading down those stairs carrying my suitcase filled with stuff for my wedding trip. It had been raining, did I mention that? And the temperature was above freezing. Did I tell you that? At the bottom of those stairs, tucked up close to the edge of the bottom riser and lying in the shadow cast by the porch light was a patch of ice. Not a big patch of ice, but a patch of ice nevertheless, a patch of ice on which my foot found no sound footing, a patch of ice which allowed the soul of my shoe to slide instead of hold, a patch of ice which caused me to slide from the bottom of the stairs across the driveway until my legs came to rest underneath my little blue Valiant.

I was not hurt. Perhaps if I had been my family would not have been so amused. But amused they were. Thinking about the wedding was their conclusion. No, thinking about the honeymoon was the bolder conclusion of some of the members of the clan.

Some compound was applied to the patch of ice so it could not do hazard to someone else in the family, cars were packed with people and things, and off we went down I-94 west to I-69, and then south into Indiana. The rain continued. And so did the laughter at my slip up.

And something else continued nearly unabated. Diane’s smoking addiction would not allow her to smoke only at the stops along the way. She spent much of the trip with her head sticking out of Hazel’s passenger window puffing away on a stinky cigarette. Sticking her head out the window was the only way she could satisfy her habit and not smell up my car. Strange thing about smokers. They smoke because they say they enjoy it, yet how enjoyable would it be to have your head facing the breezes created by a car moving along a highway at seventy miles per hour in a December rain! I have to confess, my little slip under the car was far more enjoyable than that trip must have been for Diane.

Let me say, I appreciated Diane’s company. She has always been my favorite sister who was twelve years older than I. At any rate, we finally reached Indianapolis and Linda’s home. My parents were to stay there overnight. Many of us, including me, were to stay at a motel on nearby Highway 30.

The rehearsal went without a hitch; the hitch was reserved for the next day. After, we had a dinner, and then I retired to my motel room to await the activities of the next day. Three male members of the wedding party shared the motel room with me. As tired as we all were, we slept the night through. There were no night-before-the-wedding practical jokes planned or executed.

I have often wondered why people like to inject so much nonsense into something as sacred as a wedding. Marriage is a sacred thing. It is not a sacrament, as some might believe, but it is sacred. It is something instituted by God. It was God Who performed the first wedding ceremony when He presented a beautiful, young Eve to an eager and probably somewhat puzzled Adam. There were no practical jokes. No one gave Adam a bachelor party. No one got into Adam’s suitcase and tied the arms and legs of his clothes together. I know, I know. He didn’t have any clothes. I also know there was no one else around to give him a hard time. But you get my point. Why do we put things that are dumb and degrading in our modern weddings?

There were no such things that weekend. I had made it clear to all concerned that this most beautiful of times was not to become a time of ridicule or abuse. I had even made arrangements to protect Hazel from the kinds of things that sometimes happen to the bride and groom’s car, things done by people who may be normal otherwise, but who for some reason become insane when part of a wedding. Saturday, December 28, 1968. The rain had let up, but the temperature had dropped, accompanied by a strong and icy wind. There would have been patches of ice except that the strong wind had no doubt dried them all up before they could turn to ice.

The wedding was not scheduled to start until 2:30, but Linda and I had secured the services of my friend Tim to take our wedding pictures. He had done several weddings as an amateur photographer, and he certainly would not charge us as much as a “professional” photographer would. He had encouraged us to consider having the photos taken before the wedding, at noon.

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This was not a common practice then. It was considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride before she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. But having the photos taken before the wedding offered several distinct advantages. And neither of us believe in luck, good or bad.

First, the pictures would forever show a fresh bride and groom and wedding party, not those who had already been through the rigors of the ceremony. Second, the guests would not have to sit so long at the reception before the bride and groom, occupied by the photo shoot, could get there to greet them. And third, I would get to see my beloved a full two and a half hours before the ceremony would begin.

We agreed. Some members of our families were not too certain about this bold and somewhat sacrilegious (to their way of thinking) decision. But we thought it made sense. It did.

We met at noon and Tim shot away, burning up rolls of 220 film in his two-and-a-quarter twin lens reflex. His flash flashed, our smiles smiled, and our youthful images were permanently imbedded on film where they still reside today, even though those youthful images no longer are imbedded on our bodies.

We have often looked at those pictures Tim took. “We looked so young,” we have often said. Time has certainly changed us; that is what time does. But there we are, Linda pure and beautiful in her long, white gown with the graceful veil, and me young and handsome in my black tuxedo and black bow tie. Smiling. Always smiling.

Pictures taken, we retreated, my bride and I to our respective places to prepare for the wedding. We would not see each other again until that magic moment in the ceremony when she entered the auditorium.

Was I nervous? Normally I am a person who does experience a great deal of nervousness before a major event. But, surprisingly, I was somewhat calm as I stood at the front of First Baptist Church in Beech Grove with Pastor Norm Hoag and the men who were standing with me. The music was playing softly as we walked to our places and stood quietly, watching the various ladies who were standing with Linda as they entered. But I had no interest in any of them.

Suddenly, with a burst of music from the organ, Linda entered on the arm of her dad and proceeded up the aisle toward me. My heart beat a little faster, and I am sure my smile was lighting up the whole church auditorium as each step brought her closer to me and closer to the life we would share together.

Then, by my side, we exchanged vows. “Will you?” “You bet!” “Do you?” “Certainly!” “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” “In front of all these people? Okay, why not?”

These were not the actual words, of course. The actual words were recorded by my friend from school, Dave, on an eight inch reel that I no longer can play because I don’t have a reel-to-reel recorder. Fortunately, many years ago, I transferred the sound to a cassette which I can play. But I can assure the reader that the words recorded were the traditional ones, free of any embellishments I might have added here.

The reception followed. Everybody likes the reception. Everybody except the groom. After all, the ceremony is over, let’s get on with the honeymoon. At least we didn’t have the pictures to take. There were some pictures left to take, of course. Like cutting the cake. The wedding toast. With grandparents and others who had not been present earlier.

One thing I had wanted to avoid was someone decorating our car or taking the air out of the tires or some of the other dumb things people sometimes do at weddings. At Tim’s wedding a year earlier, Tim and I had hidden Tim’s car in a large parking garage in Grand Rapids. So, for this wedding, I elicited the help of my sister’s husband, Bill. My car, Hazel, was parked in the middle of a garage near the church. After the reception, Bill, who was the only person other than myself to know the location of the car, drove Linda and me to it. There it was, safe and undecorated, waiting for us.

It was dark by now, although it was only about six or seven. And cold. The wind had been blowing all day, and the rain of the day before came back, but it came back as snow. With my new bride beside me, I headed north on I-65, out of Indianapolis, away from family and friends, just the two of us on the journey of a lifetime. Snow was falling steadily.

Because of the snow, and because we were tired, and because, well, it was our honeymoon, we decided to stop at Lafayette, Indiana. Our destination was Chicago where we would spend a few days before heading back to Grand Rapids, but that was another hour or so beyond Lafayette. It was a Howard Johnson motel along the highway. We had no reservations. Linda and Hazel stayed out in the parking lot while I went in to sign the register and secure a room. I laid my hand across the counter as I filled out the registration card, so that the clerk could see my wedding ring. I didn’t want him to think we were up to anything we shouldn’t be. I am certain he did not notice, or care.

At last, it was just the two of us. Alone in a room. A room with a bed. We had never been in that situation before. We had carefully avoided situations where we would be alone with a bed, or alone with any other piece of furniture that might suggest things we should not be thinking about. But now it was okay. Not only was it okay, it was expected. Even our parents knew what we were up to, and approved. Likewise our friends, pastors, and even the Lord Himself.

The snow kept falling. The next day, Sunday, we made the rest of the trip to Chicago. We went to the museums, we drove around downtown in the snow, we spent some time in our motel room in Gary, Indiana. Then, it was time to head home. But home now was not Lincoln Park or Beech Grove. Home now was Grand Rapids, Michigan.

The snow was getting deeper and deeper as we headed out of Chicago around Lake Michigan to Grand Rapids. At one point I was following the tracks of a large truck. I could not see the truck, only the two lines made by its tires in the snow. Had that truck driven into Lake Michigan, I would have followed it.

It is about a four hour drive from Chicago to Grand Rapids, but it took much longer that day. It was tense driving not being certain where the road was. But finally we rolled into the parking lot of the apartments at Grand Rapids Baptist College and Seminary, our first home together. The lot had not been plowed, but traffic in and out of the lot had softened and creviced the snow, turning it to slush.

We slept, tired from our long day of driving. In the morning when we went out to get some groceries, we had a difficult time getting Hazel to move. Overnight, her tires had sunk into the soft snow, and frozen fast. It took much rocking back and forth to get her to move.

The second best day of my life? That would have to be December 28, 1968, the day Linda Hubble became my bride. Yes, she knows I refer to it as the second best day of my life. No, she is not offended by that title I have given our wedding day. She knows what the best day of my life was. It was that undated day back in October of 1958, a little more than ten years earlier, when I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior. If that day had not occurred, I would never have married Linda Hubble. We would not have met. The second best day of my life occurred only because there was a best day when I by faith gave myself to Jesus Christ.

Our wedding pictures were taken by our friend Tim Amundson at the First Baptist Church of Beech Grove, Indiana on Saturday, December 28, 1968. You can view them by clicking here.