The Monkey as a Wedding Crasher

So, I attended a wedding this weekend. The groom was a recently graduated MD who is now in residency to become a vascular surgeon, while the bride has an MBA and just launched her own clothing company.

The MonkeyWife and I apparently run in high society.

The wedding ceremony was a typically catholic affair in that there was plenty of standing and sitting; the standard prayers offered to the father, the jesus, the holy ghost, and the mary; a few genuflections; communion; and a boring sermon about the evils of, well, pretty much everything. I did say catholic.

I forgot to mention that I didn’t know a soul there. Not even remotely. I saw a photo of the groom a couple of years back, but that’s as close at it got.

See, the groom worked with the MonkeyWife a few years ago while he was in med school, and evidently they got on pretty well. They must have, because she was the only person from that job he invited. In fact, aside from the two of us, everyone at the wedding was either a close friend or family member of the bride or groom. No other outsiders at all.

Oh, and to add to the awkwardness of the situation the groom and his family were African American, while the bride and hers were Filipino. Now, since the MonkeyWife is Asian she managed to blend. But as it turned out, I was the only white person there (other than the priest), so I tended to stick out. I only mention this because my whiteness underlined the fact that I didn’t know anyone there (and, more importantly, that no one there knew me), so I was pretty easy to spot as an outsider.

But weddings tend to be happy times, so someone strange isn’t automatically singled out - particularly if they are behaving as if they are supposed to be there. And having attended Filipino weddings before, I knew they tended to be very inclusive events. Also, having the MonkeyWife at my side was like having a diplomatic visa, allowing me entry and free movement.

The reception was where the real guests finally got a chance to find out who I was and what I was doing there. Sure enough, it was only moments after arriving at the restaurant hosting the reception that the first person came up to me and asked The Big Question: "So, are you a friend of the bride or groom?" And, not surprisingly, as soon as I explained things, the cautious looks disappeared and the conversation turned to the normal stuff – like sports, weather, the high cost of living, what a jerk Bush is, etc. Since the MonkeyWife was a “friend” of the groom we were assigned a table on his side of the reception hall, and everyone at our table was black. The couple sitting to our left was very pleasant and was visiting from New Jersey, while the couple to our right were locals. At first they thought there was a seating error, since they assumed my wife was with the bridal side (you know, her being Asian and all), but again, the explanations sorted things out.

At one point I was talking with the fellow from New Jersey, asking him questions about life out there and so on. I told him of my family in New York, and he guessed at my ancestry being Italian (there's something about my look, apparently). Eventually I brought up the whole weird feeling I had about being the ultimate outsider in the party. He laughed and remarked that now I could relate to how he felt as the only black guy in his physics department (he was finishing his PhD at Rutgers - something about dark matter and the fate of the universe). “Besides,” he added, “you’re Italian, so you aren’t even really white anyway.”

I couldn't have felt more accepted if he pinned a kinte cloth on me.

Ook ook.