Chicago Daily Herald
October 9, 2005 Sunday
F3 Edition; F4 Edition
Parents’ language of love for newlyweds needs no interpreter
Marnie Mamminga
They spoke almost no English.
Journeying from the biblical vistas of Mount Ararat, they flew
thousands of miles across the cities of Europe, the blue-green swells
of the Atlantic Ocean, and the drought-dried fields of America’s
heartland before arriving in the concrete heat waves of the
distinctly different Dallas.
He is Hamlet and she is Karine (Kara), and they traveled all this way
bearing gifts of cognac and hand-made pillow covers from their native
Armenia in celebration of their daughter’s wedding to my nephew.
It is my fifth wedding of the summer, beginning with my own son’s
joyous celebration to his beautiful high school sweetheart and
concluding with our nephew’s long-awaited marriage to his Armenian
bride. In between were the wonderful weddings of friends.
Each celebration reflected not only the unique love of the bride and
groom but of the parents’ love for their children as well. For
although it is a time of great happiness, it is also a time of
separation as our children journey forth with their beloved partners
and create lives of their own.
They go, of course, with our blessings but not without a soft sigh
from our hearts in the definite realization that our children are now
grown and belong to someone else.
We try to be subtle about this letting go, but we are not so good at
it.
I witnessed it in a myriad of undisguised moments during each of
these summer breeze-brushed weddings: the gradual weakening of a
dad’s voice at the rehearsal dinner as he delivered a humorous and
heartfelt toast; a mother’s sweet, prolonged adjustment of her son’s
tuxedo tie as they wait for the ceremony to begin; and a father’s
continuous tender kisses on his daughter’s forehead as they so
lovingly dance at the reception.
Like the ancient rivers that have long caressed the Earth, such small
moments are wordless expressions of the deep, ever-flowing love a
parent has for a child.
And although we parents try to keep these powerful emotions under
wraps, they keep bubbling up at unexpected moments. So my heart went
out to Hamlet and Kara, who were not only celebrating their only
daughter’s wedding in a foreign land but also adjusting to their
first trip to America as well.
Besides not knowing the language, there was the heavy heat of Dallas,
the congested traffic, the mix of American-Mexican food, and the
ongoing introductions to yet another set of family members that kept
appearing on the scene. Not to mention, that as the bride’s parents,
they had an important role to play.
But none of that seemed to ripple Hamlet or Kara’s demeanor. Kara’s
beautiful smile and sparking eyes spoke volumes, and she knew a
smattering of gracious words like “beautiful” and “good” and “thank
you” which, when you think about it, cover a lot of territory.
Hamlet emanated a quiet dignity that overshadowed what must have been
tremendous cultural differences. Although he knew no English, he was
not afraid to venture forth in his own language with interpreting
help from the bride’s two Armenian girlfriends. (After all, the
bride, who also speaks impeccable English, could hardly be expected
to translate her father’s toast to herself.)
“Shhhhhh, Hamlet is going to speak,” someone would announce
throughout the weekend celebrations. And then Hamlet would take
center stage, gather his thoughts, and in a strong voice, confidently
deliver a toast in the musical language of his native tongue.
” ‘He says we parents are like gardeners, and these are our
flowers,'” the young Armenian woman translated to the groom’s parents
in impeccable English. “‘We have raised and nurtured our flowers
separately, but now these beautiful flowers will bloom together.’ ”
Gathered guests nodded in perfect understanding of this wisdom.
” ‘He wants to know if the vows included honoring one another in
sickness and health, in good times and bad?’ ” the young interpreter
asked the bride and groom, who confirmed this was so.
” ‘He wishes that you love each other always. May you share one
pillow as you go through life and grow old together.
” ‘When you have difficulties, and you will, for life is hard,'”
Hamlet continued, “but your love can overcome these obstacles. Your
love will see you through.’ ”
Although we do not know much of Hamlet’s Armenian or personal
background, it is clear he knows of what he speaks.
Earlier in the day, with the morning shadows still cooling the
wedding’s backyard garden setting, Hamlet stood poised in his
American tuxedo with his radiant daughter on his arm. To the sounds
of a lush brass quintet, they started down the down the aisle
together.
This is always one of the most poignant moments of a wedding for me,
for unaccountably, even if I don’t know the family well, a wall of
emotion surges up like a dam ready to burst. It takes all my strength
to keep from breaking into a sea of sobs.
I can only attribute this emotional flash to the sub-conscious memory
of my own deep love for my father as we began our walk down the aisle
together at my wedding 35 years ago. I was only 20, and at the end of
the aisle waiting for me was a man my father loved and respected and
I adored (still do).
Perhaps it is because my father died a mere six years later that such
a bonding moment, a time to leave and a time to join together, holds
such a cherished place in my heart.
And so I felt a special empathy for this Armenian father as he
listened and watched an entire ceremony whose words held no meaning
for him. What could be going through his head as his daughter not
only leaves his family to join another’s but also trades a culture
and a country?
As the bride and groom concluded their vows with a kiss and began
their walk back down the garden path to a new life of their own,
Hamlet spoke out over the background of the brass in his native
Armenian language to his once little girl:
” ‘Be happy,'” he says in a loud and clear voice. “‘Happiness to you
always.’ ”
The universal language of a parent’s heart.
No interpretation needed.