My parents threw me a storybook wedding that began with a knock on the door of my posh suite at the Fairmont New Orleans.
It was my brother knocking, and (true to form — some of you know him?) he was holding champagne. He roused my friend Jacque and me and we ordered room service to bring us orange juice for mimosas.
Jacque had a somewhat progressive electric toothbrush for the time, and I’ll never forget how she used it to shine up my engagement ring for me before she even brushed her own teeth. That’s friendship.
Every year on my wedding anniversary, I take out my album and flip through it with our children. Every year, they notice something different, something they didn’t see before. It’s one of the few albums in the house that isn’t
peppered dripping with them, but it’s the one that tells their most important tale — the story of how they came to be.
We look through the pages of our friends and family, those who went on to become our children’s grandparents, great-grandmothers, aunt, uncles, godparents and the parents of their friends; all of the people who came together to celebrate the best day of my life, the day I married their Daddy.
Happy anniversary, Carlos!