The worst reason for doing something

When Wes and I decided to get married and to have a wedding, we made a pact early on to do things the way we wanted to – not in the sense of “It’s my day, and I’ll do what I want” but in the sense of “Why do I have to do it that way?”. Wes and I wrote our slightly unusual ceremony, which involved friends and family members, rather than use the tradition version. We had guests submit songs for our play list and burned CDs for the music at the reception. I wore blue ballet shoes. My various maids and matrons (none had formal titles) didn’t wear the same dresses – in fact, they picked them out themselves. Nor did I buy a copy of Etiquette for Brides or some such Emily Post publication. As a result, I – according to the experts – improperly addressed the invitations. The invitation for my sister and brother-in-law was sent to “Mr. and Mrs. Reid and Laura Cook” – that’s who they are after all, and the bit of feminist I have in me screams out “I want to acknowledge that the woman has a name!” (I don’t fall apart when we receive mail addressed to Dr. and Mrs. Wesley Self, but I prefer letters that are for Wes and Liz, since that’s who we are to people who are near and dear). My sister, who was married about six months prior to us, called me to tell me that it should have read “Mr. and Mrs. E. Reid Cook.” My only response was that she got the invitation, so my way evidently worked just fine.

Why – why – are people so obsessed with doing things like this a certain way? In a word, tradition. I know many brides, in particular, who plan their weddings in line with tradition. I say fine, but only if those traditions hold particular meaning to the bride. If not, why not do things differently? I understand why basic etiquette is important – it reduces that chance of inadvertently offending someone, especially where cultural, ethnic, or generational differences are concerned. But I hardly see how including a woman’s first name would offend her. And I would never tell someone that they’d done something wrong in the name of tradition alone.

I love traditions when they are meaningful. It’s tradition in my family to create a chain on my mother’s birthday (the last day of November) and count down the days until Christmas. Growing up, the four kids would take turns taking links off the chain as it got shorter and shorter and Christmas day drew nearer. Now that it’s just Wes and I, we still have a chain. It’s customary at Christmas in Wes’s family to honor a few Swedish traditions in honor of Wes’s paternal grandmother who immigrated to the US from Sweden when she was just a child. And so we have the Christmas goat. Why not – it’s cute. These traditions remind us of special times and special people, and so they are meaningful. Having a flower girl and garter toss were not important to us at our wedding, so we didn’t have them. What’s the fuss?

This eschewing of tradition intertwines for me with a distaste for overly pompous and unnecessarily formal events – like UVA’s graduation. For those of you who have never attended one of these ridiculously drawn-out affairs, let me synopsize – ALL of the graduates of UVA – bachelor’s, master’s, doctorate, MD, JD, MBA, and all the other acronyms – process onto the lawn for one ceremony, then break up into schools for a second ceremony where the degrees are conferred. The lawn processional takes at least an hour – just to get everyone on the lawn – plus at least another hour for speakers and other formalities. A few years ago, on the day of UVA’s graduation, it was around 50 degrees and pouring rain. Most sane people expected the trustees to move the ceremony inside or cancel it and just hold the smaller ceremonies for individual schools. Did they? No. Of course not. One of the trustees on the radio said, “We couldn’t imagine not holding the lawn processional. It’s tradition.” Huh? I loved attending Wes’s MD ceremony. Everybody walked, and everybody cheered and clapped. The graduates all knew each other and there was a common bond. It was festive. I didn’t love the lawn processional. It was long. It was tedious. It was replayed on the local Charlottesville tv station all summer. I guess what confused me was that some people interpreted my disinterest in the lawn processional as a lack of excitement for Wes’s accomplishment. Fortunately my husband knows me well enough – and I him – that he didn’t connect one to the other. He knew I was utterly ecstatic for this day to come, that I was proud beyond words of his accomplishment, but that I felt it more truly celebrated in a smaller, more intimate setting – like in the big banner I put on the front our house announcing his becoming a doctor.

A lot of graduates probably love the lawn processional, and a lot of onlookers may find it a beautiful and elegant tribute to the history and esteem of the institution. I don’t short them for that. They find meaning in the event. I don’t. I personally didn’t really want to attend my high school graduation, and I although I enjoyed it to an extent, I wouldn’t have felt bereft if I hadn’t attended my college graduation. Some brides may find meaning in being married with the same words and deeds that their parents did. I didn’t. I didn’t want to make our thirty guests sit through another wedding ceremony that they’d heard a million times. I wanted our ceremony to be a reflection of us and our hopes and dreams as a couple. I just want that honored also.

Ironically, the speaker at Wes’s lawn processional gave a speech that day much in line of this post – she talked about the need to end traditions that don’t make sense, no longer hold meaning, or are offensive. She was the first African-American and first female to attend UVA’s medical school and helped usher in a new tradition that all of us could learn from – acceptance and inclusion of something different from what we’re used to. I don’t hope that people necessarily ignore tradition or try to fly in the face of it all the time, but that they follow the traditions that have meaning and make new ones where needed. It’s putting a little thought into how to live life. Sing on Frank.