A Confused Heart and a White Train

October 7, 1967 • San Francisco

On a crisp October day, my father escorted me down the carpeted aisle of Holy Name of Jesus, our church in the Sunset.

I looked like a fairy princess, dressed in the white wedding dress my stepsister wore when she married. It fit like a dream: white lace, cap sleeves, darted at the waist… not a dress I would’ve chosen, but beautiful, the train following me, my knees shaking, my lips twitching, my mouth so dry my lips were stuck to my teeth like a fool’s tongue on a frozen flagpole. Six-foot-six Father O’Shaughnessy, in his black robes, smiled his handsome crooked tan smile. Our four bridesmaids (my three high school friends and my niece Debbie, fourteen and stoned) wore matching, full-length, empire-waist coral bridesmaid dresses, holding bouquets of dyed carnations and baby roses. The four ushers (Bob’s two school friends and two brothers) dressed in black tails, and Bob, looking baby-faced and nervous, waited for us expectantly at the altar.

It’s better that I didn’t invite Mom. It would be too hard on Daddy and she would’ve wrecked this, and besides, I haven’t seen her in years and she wouldn’t care anyway.

I thought about how hard Marie worked to make this a beautiful wedding, about what it cost and how Daddy used his inheritance money, about how far everyone traveled. I wanted to run—but I didn’t make promises lightly; I also didn’t want to disappoint everyone.  As I peered out from under my veil at 150 people, our families and friends, our parents’ friends, Bob’s mother… oh my god, she looks like a leprechaun! She’s got on a green, knee-length, lace-covered dress and matching pantyhose, a green flowered hat and veil, green eye-shadow, holding a green handbag, with her feet stuffed into three-inch, dyed-to-match podesua heels barely making her five-foot tall. I was bobbling on the edge of hysteria. I glanced sideways at my father, looking so handsome in his tuxedo; I could smell his lapel flower and his splash of Old Spice. I forgot about Velma (who wasn’t particularly thrilled about her little Bobby marrying me) and moved into a silent rant with him.

“How did I get here? How could this be happening? This is your fault! If you hadn’t jumped up and nearly knocked your chair over at Bob’s birthday dinner party when he announced we were getting married with your “oh no…” 

And so, with my family and friends as witnesses—against all my better judgment—with a confused heart, a bowed head, a white train, and a full Mass, I married a boy who shared the same thimble-full of common sense as me.