Our story begins decades ago. That’s when this reporter and a child psychiatrist (I became her favorite patient) got married. We first met many moons ago in college. As working professionals, we got married in City Hall at noon when each of us was on lunch break from our respective jobs. By 1 p.m. we were back at work.
Since then, we’ve been blessed with daughter Lauren and twin sons, Amman and Jordan, all college grads who are working professionals in their respective fields. On this day, we find ourselves at the lush Waikiki Beach Hilton, then a block away at the Duke Kahanamoku statue, renewing our marriage vows in a surprise romantic gesture of love, faith and commitment, thanks in part to Rev. June Dillinger from “I Do Hawaiian Weddings.” She delivers our vows in English and Hawaiian.
Duke, a Hawaiian-born Olympian Gold and Silver medalist in swimming (1912, 1920, 1924) is considered the father of modern-day surfing. To many, his huge 27-year-old statute is both a secular and spiritual symbol. Many couples marry here or renew their vows at this picturesque spot you’ve probably seen on Hawaii Five-0. It seemed to be an appropriate backdrop for our ritual featuring my lovely bride in this tropical place where we’ll eventually retire once the sub-zero Chicago winters become too much to bear.
It’s a joyful story. But not without complications. One of the first things they teach us in journalism school, is “don’t become part of the story.” One of the things we teach in Columbia College’s Creative Nonfiction classes is that your point-of-view, rich research, ample dialogue, character-as-a place, and “voice” are essential to storytelling as long as you get the story right.
Truth be told, the official reason we’re here is I am presenting a paper on late great writer James Baldwin and screening my “Revisiting Afro Cuba” documentary at the Hawaii International Conference on Arts and Humanities, thanks to a part-time Columbia faculty development grant.
That said, the unofficial reason is to see that shocked look on my wife’s face when I tell her to put on a “special dress for an event that involves food, rum and fun. What’s not to like?!” According to an MSNBC news feature on the reason why Earlene stands on my left: “Typically the groom will always stand on the right, with the bride on their left — and no, it’s not because it’s his or her better side in photos. While it may seem trivial, the reason why this is the standard position dates back hundreds of years ago — and it’s not exactly romantic. According to The Knot, the practice dates back to the times of ‘marriage by capture,’ which, yes, was as horrible as it sounds. It involved the man simple capturing (read: kidnapping) the woman he wanted to marry and is actually reportedly still practiced in some countries in Central Asia and parts of Africa.”
The only thing I fought off were the pesky sea gulls wanting to get in on the action.
Rev. June was so enamored by our story she performed the ceremony for costs.
“This was a total surprise,” Earlene said. “It was so romantic — and to think I almost didn’t come because a couple days before my aging mom was hospitalized with a serious throat disorder. I checked on her every day. She’s better now. Me, too. Corny as it sounds, all’s well that ends well.”
We celebrated under the nearby cabana outside the Moana Surfrider Beach Bar over a bottle of bubbly as the sunset breeze blew over the warm Pacific Ocean.
That’s how our story doesn’t end.