Let's (not) hear it 
for the Groom!

Someone once told me that, from the groom’s perspective, there are three keys to a successful marriage:

• Be a good sport at the reception.

• Have fun on the honeymoon.

• Wait to die.

As someone who has made more than one trip to the altar, I can tell you there is wisdom in those words.

Like appetizer trays and floral arrangements, the groom is just another prop in his bride’s fairy tale-come-true. All he really has to do is be on time and make sure his rental cummerbund faces the right way. (I always thought that if I got married again, I’d wear mine pleats down. Just to see if anyone would check. But that’d be an expensive way to find out.)

No one seems more out of place than the groom on his wedding day. Few people on Earth are less significant.

Several years ago I was in Waikiki and happened to walk past one of those large resorts that grinds out weddings and receptions like so many sausages. A cacophony emanated from the entrance and, to no one’s surprise (at least not mine), it was a dozen cackling bridesmaids. Followed by the beaming bride herself.

Farther behind, and looking somewhat defeated, was the groom and his best man. The latter proved his worth by sharing a generous swig from his flask.

It was 9:30 on Sunday morning.

It’s worth noting that this was a Japanese wedding. Because across the continents and cultures, one thing is constant: Grooms don’t matter. 
I have to admit to feeling a sense of brotherhood with the poor fellow.

It would be impossible to provide a complete account of all the moving parts-and-pieces that went into producing this edition of Brentwood Lifestyle. So let’s just say that Nashville-based event coordinator Bruce Pittman is the guy who gets things done. With Bruce, no corners are cut and nothing less than excellence is accepted.

On a personal note, writing about last year’s Anderson-Gill wedding was unlike any story I have covered. Aside from being exceedingly gracious with her time and photos, Sarah Anderson Gill is the daughter of Becky Lee Anderson, my high school friend and classmate from Louisville, Ky. Until recently, Becky and I hadn’t seen each other since the day we graduated and had no idea that we both settled in Williamson County. To talk to her daughter, and to discover years after the fact that our lives followed similar paths, is one of those amazing stories that make life so interesting.