It was the day of my son Hamish's wedding and I arrived early to drive him and his best man Sam to the church. I let myself in and quietly entered the living room.
First a little background. Hamish is now 26 years old, since the seventh grade he has been a competitive swimmer. He finished the competitive aspect of swimming more than two years ago when he entered grad school but he still swims daily. As a result, my 5'10" son is in remarkably fit condition. His gorgeous body is topped with light brown hair, green eyes and a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose -- just like his mother.
Sam is not only Hamish's best man but also his best friend since the fourth grade. Like Hamish, Sam is now 26 and has been a competitive swimmer most of his life. He is 5'9" with a taut body, dark brown hair and cobalt blue eyes and the sexiest crooked smile. Sam had an unhappy childhood marked particularly by the bitter divorce his parents went through when Sam was in the fifth grade. That is when Sam began spending a great of deal of time with our family -- a place he could feel safe from the battles of his parents -- and he became an unofficial part of our family even though he continued to live with his mother.
The morning of the wedding it was evident Hamish was extremely nervous. He was pacing furiously about his small apartment while muttering to Sam. I stood for a moment admiring the sight. Hamish was wearing nothing but tighty-whiteys that contrasted nicely with his tanned swimmer's torso.
Sam looked up at me and shrugged his shoulders and mouthed "Help" at me. Sam was wearing boxer-briefs which clung closely to his swimmer's physique.
"What seems to be the problem?" I asked needlessly.
"Oh, Dad, When did you get here? ... Oh, God, I am so nervous." He sounded very much like my little boy 20 years before. I had a quick flashback to when he was six and uncertain about which two-wheeler to buy with his birthday money.
"Breathe, breathe. Deep breaths." I commanded. Hamish complied and his chest expanded and his waistline contracted as he drew in air. I chuckled to myself when I noticed Sam doing the exact same thing.
"So what is the problem?"
"Oh, Dad, I ... I ... I am just having second thoughts about the wedding thing."
"Ok, so you have decided you don't love Jillian." I teased. I love playing devil's advocate.
Hamish looked horrified, "I didn't say that. I do love her... I do... I just... I am so ...scared."
Sam piped up, "He has been doing this since about 5 this morning, Mr M. I can't get him to calm down."
I winked at Sam. "So it is a hopeless case. I guess I had best phone Jillian's father and let him know before they dress and head for the church that there won't be a wedding."
Hamish started up, "Don't you dare! Don't you ..." He realized what I was doing and began to laugh. "I guess I deserved that."
"So if it isn't Jillian and you don't want to call off the wedding, what's all the fuss?"
"He is just being Ham. That's all, Mr M. Wishy-washy. Mr Worst-Case-Scenario."
Hamish threw a sofa cushion in Sam's direction. "Scared of the unknown, I guess."
"The unknown?" Sam laughed. "You and Jill have lived together for three years. You dated for two years before that. How much longer are you going to take to get to know her? A decade? Two?"
"Sam. Be fair." I admonished gently, "We all know this is just pre-wedding jitters. I got them before your mother and I got hitched," I reminded Hamish.
"What did you do to get over them, Dad?"
"Well, your mother's father was pointing that gun at me and being a coward..." Sam at least appreciated my effort at humour and he laughed heartily.
"No, really, what did you do? I need some help here, Dad."
"What did you do before a big swim meet? What did Coach Lambert teach you about relaxing and focusing?"
"He taught us to breathe deeply. He taught us to block out extraneous noises and our competition. He taught us to remember we were championship quality swimmers. But none of that seems to be working right now. I think I am going to throw up."
"Alright, well, obviously we need to try a different tactic. Come into the bedroom, both of you." I shooed both boys into the bedroom. I took Hamish by the shoulders, turned him so his back was against the foot of the bed, and pushed him back onto the bed.
"Dad! What..."
Before he could finish, I grabbed his ankles with one hand, lifted his legs into the air and with the other hand pulled his tighty-whiteys off his body.