I Do, I Do, I Do (Ch. 11)

The story of four daughters, three couples,

two parents and one very big wedding

By Thomas Kunkel

CHAPTER 11: THE VIEW FROM THE OTHER SIDE 

Click here for previous chapters:   Ch.10   Ch.9   Ch.8  Ch.7   Ch.6   Ch. 5   Ch. 4   Ch. 3   Ch. 2   Ch. 1
 

July, 2010

 I got home from work the other day and noticed a delivery had been left outside the front door. The name on the box was Zappos. Even I, hardly the most Web-savvy consumer around, recognized the name of this Internet peda-phenomenon.

I checked the box for heft (disappointingly light) and gave it a little shake. Then I looked for the addressee, expecting to find Deb’s name. Instead: Helen Kunkel. Hmmm. Zappos, Helen…..

Can you say wedding shoes?

The next evening Deb called. She was back in Maryland at the time, slaving to clear out our old home of more than a decade of family detritus before we closed on its sale. She had me on speakerphone when Helen suddenly interrupted.

“Dad, did a Zappos package come for me?”

I barely let her get the words out.

“Oh my gosh, Helen, they’re beautiful!”

“DAA-AD! You didn’t open the box, did you?”

“Well, of course I opened the box, Helen, how the heck was I supposed to know what Zappos is?”

“You didn’t, did you?”

“Helen, they’re going to look so great with your dress!”

“Daaaaad!!! Mom!!!”

Deb calmly intervened. “He didn’t open the box, Helen.”

“Dad—did you?”

Deb again: “Helen, remember, he doesn’t even know what your dress looks like.”

Pause. “Dad!!”

No, Helen, I didn’t open it. Tempted, I admit, but far more fun to stay in the dark and be able to tease you.

Deb succeeded in emptying out the Maryland house, primarily via a rolling, four-day yard sale and thus proving again that there is nothing so useless or beat up that people won’t buy if they think they’re getting a deal. You want proof? We’d just had the oak floors there refinished, and I asked Deb to please protect them from the rummagers picking through our stuff by putting down some of the old scruffy rugs we’d long since retired to the garage.

Two days into the yard sale I asked Deb about the floors. She said she had indeed been putting out the rugs to protect them—but people kept buying them.

Once Deb was done she headed back to Wisconsin, along with Helen and a sedan-full of Helen’s worldly goods.

As I said in my last entry, Helen is spending the summer with us to help finish up the wedding planning. In the meantime, though, she found out where she and Mike will be spending the first chapter of their married lives—in San Diego. That had been Mike’s first choice for a posting, not only for its marvelous year-round climate but because his family lives in southern California. As it’s in high demand by Navy officers, including eager young helicopter pilots, a San Diego assignment had felt like a bit of a longshot to Helen and Mike. Needless to say, they were ecstatic at the news.

“When I selected helicopters, I knew there was really only one community I wanted to get into—HSC, which stands for helicopter sea combat,” Mike explained in an email. “Our mission in HSC is search and rescue, vertical replenishment of ships, and combat logistics (i.e., putting Navy SEALs on boats and taking them off when they are done). 

“Now that I got it, I’ll be heading down to San Diego to start my (HSC) training. It’s almost going to be like flight school again, except now they know I can fly. But I will be learning how to fly my new aircraft, the MH-60S Knighthawk, for the fleet squadron.”

With his new commission, Mike is now a lieutenant junior grade. He’ll be in this next phase of training for another six to eight months before getting his permanent station in a fleet squadron—and his first deployment. He could be attached to carriers, destroyers, cruisers or supply ships. He’s looking forward to seeing the wider world, he said, be it Japan or Indonesia or the Middle East. “But I also understand we have a job to do and that’s to support the troops on the ground—that’s all our job is. With that, I am super excited and can’t wait to get back to the west coast.”

We’re delighted for both of them, being just a few hours’ drive from the Lindsey family. That will be especially important to all of us when Mike is on one of his months-long assignments at sea. But this duty is precisely what Mike and Helen signed on for, and they’re excited. Besides that, they’re going to be living in a place just this side of paradise. As June drew to a close they flew out for some apartment-shopping and picked a lovely place with ample room for a guest bed.

Now where did I put that suitcase?

                                               

                                                                        *

            If you’ve been following this journal, by now you’ve read more than 35,000 words on what I think about the 3Wedding. But many of you have asked me, sensibly enough, what the parents of the grooms think about it—so I decided to ask them. Here’s what they had to say:

First up—Julie Lindsey, writing for herself and her husband, Will:

“It was May, 2005. I had flown out to Annapolis to watch the Naval Academy Class of 2008 climb the Herndon Monument, which signified that they were no longer plebes. I met up with Michael and he briefed me on the events of the day. Then he said, in a humble way but with obvious excitement, that he was going to take a girl named Helen to dinner and a prom after-party that night—he hoped I didn’t mind traveling 3,000 miles to visit him, only to be left in a hotel room all alone. Seeing the excitement on his face, how could I say anything but, ‘Of course I don’t mind, sweetheart.’

 “The next day I drove Michael to the home of his sponsor family, the Perrets. I intended to just drop him off so he could get dressed. But Colleen Perret said, ‘Julie, you need to come with us to the picture-taking, because Helen’s mom wants to meet you and Michael and will not let her daughter go out with Michael unless she approves of him.’ I felt a little nervous, but I knew that Michael would win Debbie over. (As for myself, I was very quiet—which is very rare for me, just ask anyone who knows me!)

“Well, Debbie must have given her thumbs-up, and we watched as Helen and Michael drove off for their first date. I didn’t see Michael till 10 the next morning. I’d wanted to spend the rest of the day with him, but he’d had no sleep. So once we were back at the hotel, out he went. Not exactly the weekend I’d planned, but I was excited to be part of the beginning of Helen and Michael’s relationship.

“Every summer our family meets in Lake Tahoe for a weeklong camping trip. I was surprised when Michael called and asked if Helen could join us. Once again Debbie and I talked, and I assured her that they would sleep in the tent trailer with Will and me, and the week would be ‘G-rated.’ Michael was so excited and couldn’t wait to share this family time with Helen. Since then Helen has joined our family in Tahoe in 2006, 2007 and 2009. 

“July 2006 would be their first dating anniversary, and Michael made big plans! He consulted with me many times—what about this, what do you think about that, everything designed to sweep a girl off her feet. He presented her with a certificate that confirmed a star was named after her, and that afternoon they went on a parasailing ride, and the evening closed with dinner at a lake-view restaurant. It was clear Michael was head-over-heels in love with this young lady, and Michael was not alone. Our family loves her so much, too.

“Tahoe 2007 was probably the one year Helen was not happy. It wasn’t so much that a bear literally walked six feet beside her, but the fact that Michael’s aunt attempted to lure the bear back by putting a cake out in the middle of the camp. 

“Tahoe 2009 was the year we will remember for a long time. We all gathered for the wedding of Michael’s cousin as well as our annual camping trip. The morning of the wedding, Michael took Helen for a hot-air balloon ride, where he asked her to marry him. We all knew the day would come, because Michael alone is an awesome young man, but when you see him with Helen he is truly complete. 

            “During the five years Michael and Helen have been dating, we have had the pleasure of spending time with Katie, Claire and Grace. When we learned that Katie and Claire had also been proposed to, Will and I would have been honored to be invited to their weddings. We were thrilled when we heard the girls were planning a triple wedding. Probably our only concern was that each of the couples would be able to feel their personal touches and the day would be special to each of them.

 “Michael’s sister, Jenny, has thought of Helen like a sister from the day they met, and she was honored that Helen asked her to be one of her bridesmaids. She tried on her dress when we were visiting her in Texas and she looked absolutely stunning. 

“The frosting on the cake for Will and me was when we heard Helen and Michael would be living in San Diego (about a three-hour drive for us) after they are married. I joked with Michael that I was shopping for a tent trailer and would come to visit every weekend. I don’t think he thought that was such a great idea, but when I proposed this to Helen she was so sweet: ‘Oh yes, Julie, we would love to have you come and stay with us.’

 “I would like to reiterate how much we love Helen and the Kunkel family, and we look forward to many family gatherings, as distance will allow. Michael still glows when Helen walks into the room, and as a mom I know I will be putting him in loving arms.”

                                                                        *

This is from Chuck Stewart, writing for himself and wife Marcia, about their son Nick:

 “When we first heard that there was to be a triple wedding I have to admit I wasn’t overly excited about the prospect. As you might imagine, I wondered about diluting the specialness of the occasion. I didn’t want the spectacle of a Triple Wedding to detract from the solemnity of the occasion. I suppose the title of your blog—‘I Do, I Do, I Do’—expressed my initial concern: that the ceremony had the potential of being an ‘I do, me too, and ditto,’ type of event. That fear involved the mammalian old brain, I’m afraid.

“But after the particulars began trickling in, the never-tiresome story of best friends wanting to be together for life, and thinking of your intended as ‘coming home’ and pairs of loved ones always ‘having your back,’ I realized (with a higher order of reasoning) that something extraordinary was brewing. Getting out of the way of myself, I considered the unique family and sisterly love that must be present to share this singular life event together. We have to admire and respect the job you and Deb have done as parents that your daughters, being the unique and special individuals they are, chose to commemorate this most august occasion together as sisters and new brides. 

“We were also struck with the inescapable symbolism of where all three of the couples most wanted to profess their love and their desire to be together forever. In each instance they chose a place of majesty and mystery, a kind promise to move into the unknown together, their adventure beginning together on the edge of the natural world, signifying beauty, mystery, and purity. Then again, maybe we’ve just seen too many old movies—but still, it wasn’t the ‘ring in the champagne’ gambit.

“We would like to take more credit than we probably deserve for the young man that Nick has become. Only natural, right? We didn’t give him a lot of advice when he was young (might be some differing opinions on this). With respect to doing schoolwork, we didn’t require A’s, only that he did his best. He’s taken this to heart, it seems, and when he decides to do something he gives it everything he’s got.

“When the conversations drifted into the hows and whys of our long marriage, I told him that I thought the key to happiness is to choose a person you think is smarter than you, and that the successful approach to a long relationship is to make sure from the start that it’s a partnership. I know this struck a chord with him because his sister and he used to say (complain) that ‘Mom and you are always on the same page, it’s like talking to the same person.’ None of this ‘Dad said it was OK’ if I do such and such. I am sure you know of what I speak.

“We are gratified that Nick has ‘partnered’ with Katie, whom we know as passionate, smart and beautiful. We had to laugh a little when you mentioned in one of your chapters that the Stewarts had adopted Katie. You don’t know how true that is. We took to her immediately, seeing her intelligence, ambition, and love for our son, and to be sure she has already become part of the family. She passed the ‘going on vacation with the Stewarts’ acid test with flying colors (remind to me tell you about the ‘Donner Party’ vacation to Williamsburg some years back).

            “We are a small but devoted family. There is not a plethora of aunts or uncles or cousins within shouting distance, or paternal grandparents. Just a single high-quality Nana, a doting aunt, an extremely close sister—Katie—and her fabulous husband, Mike. Nick marrying into a large family is very comforting to us. And I ask you, is there any better beginning than a triple wedding to start things off? Imagine the possibilities.”

                                                                        *

And finally, this is from Maria Kaiser, about her son Sam.

“Just prior to typing my thoughts for the wedding journal, I did another Google search under ‘Kunkel Triple Wedding St Norbert.’ It’s exciting how much coverage this event has received to date—plus it’s fun to see your kid’s picture and name ‘out there.’ 

“My son Sam Kaiser will marry his best friend Claire Kunkel. They’ve already been through some good times and some tough times—taking care of each other, remaining true, respectful, loving and supportive of one another’s goals. I am going to De Pere this month for a short visit with Sam and the Kunkel family. It will be fun to see where all of this will take place and to possibly catch Debbie in ‘Big Deb Mode.’ The woman is amazing and seems to have planning down to an art.

“I was re-reading the story (with picture) that the Milwaukee paper carried about the wedding. One of the comments from a reader was this: ‘One out of every two marriages ends in divorce. Which couple in the picture will it be?’ He or she is obviously not the well-wisher type.

“Well, here’s some good news concerning marriage statistics: my parents, Don and Betty Becker—Sam’s grandparents—have been married 50 years. My brother, two sisters and I recently hosted a 50^th wedding anniversary party for them. We had around 130 family and close friends. By the way, Tom (Sr.) and Mary Lou Kunkel were there—Claire’s grandparents—themselves married 56 years this month. Tom grew up across the street from my dad (a small-world thing). Also present were Dan and Sharon Kaiser, Sam’s other grandparents—married 49 years. 

“I asked my mom and dad if they would list the ‘secrets’ to a happy, successful marriage. Here’s what they had to say:

Mom’s list:

1.      Share the same basic principles regarding moral behavior and religious faith

2.      Patience

3.      Equality

4.      Temperance

5.      Sense of humor

6.      Self-sacrifice

7.      Sensitivity

8.      Respect the other’s opinion

9.      Duty-bound

10.  Agree on use of money

11.  Reasonably active social life

12.  Forgiveness

13.  Tolerance

Dad’s list:

1.      We have found out that marriage is a 100 percent sharing of responsibilities instead of the so-called 50-50 percent

2.      Respect each other’s right to some privacy in their lives—it’s nice to have quiet time each day

3.      Share each other’s opinions on the proper values you wish to instill in your children and arrive at an agreement

4.      Do not put off having children for too long or you might fall into the trap of “not being able to afford a family”

5.      Do not live beyond the lifestyle that you can afford (“act your wage”)

6.      Start being generous with your time and money at the start of marriage—budget so that you will have something left over to help a person in need

7.      Deny yourself reasonably—learn the meaning of the word “no”

8.      Make plans to be with each other alone at least once a month (minimum)—every two weeks is better

9.      Participate in a religious service weekly

10.  Remember your birthdays and anniversaries and try to celebrate

11.  Each partner should develop a hobby of some sort to do by themselves

12.  When you have a spat of some kind, you should make up and smooth things over before retiring for the night—both will sleep better

13.  Admit when you are wrong—good for the soul

14.  Compliment each other daily on each other’s accomplishments

15.  Participate in church and civic activities, but with moderation; do not take too much time away that should be spent with each other or family 

16.  If possible, try to live off of one income; this would require sacrifice and self-denial of both parents, but it’s ideal for children

“I will be there on October 9, 2010—wishing my son Sam and Claire well…..hoping and praying that all three couples have a happy, long life together.”

                                                           

                                                                        *

That abundance of excellent advice, offered by people who have been there, is a good place to end this installment—except to say that these observations are all the evidence one needs as to why Deb and I feel so fortunate about the three families our daughters are marrying into.

NEXT: Summer showers.

Thomas Kunkel is president of St. Norbert College in De Pere, Wisconsin

I Do, I Do, I Do (Ch. 10)

The story of four daughters, three couples,

two parents and one very big wedding

By Thomas Kunkel

CHAPTER 10: COMMENCING

Click here for previous chapters:   Ch.9   Ch.8   Ch.7   Ch.6   Ch. 5   Ch. 4   Ch. 3   Ch. 2   Ch. 1 

June, 2010

May is the season of flowers, mothers, revolutions and—especially around here this year—graduations.

For our crew the commencing, well, commenced at George Washington University, where Nick graduated from the law school a few Saturdays ago. Deb and I weren’t able to be there, as we would have liked—but since the ceremony turned out to be four hours long, perhaps it was just as well. Katie said I would have died. She knows from hard experience that at any confined event, even with my own kids (or my own future in-laws) involved, I start checking my watch about 75 minutes in.

Nonetheless everyone said it was a lovely day, and more to the point we’re all tremendously proud of Nick, who graduated with honors despite taking on the kind of extracurricular burdens (e.g., contributing law journal articles, tackling outside research assignments) that top students tend to do.

Making the day even more memorable for him, Nick’s grandmother wrote a letter reminding him that more than six decades earlier his late grandfather also graduated from GW, and saying how proud he would have been to see Nick crossing the stage. Then she presented Nick with his grandfather’s GW class ring. Not a dry eye in the joint, Katie said.

Deb and I couldn’t attend because that same weekend we were hosting St. Norbert’s commencement activities back in De Pere.

Our graduation speaker was acclaimed journalist, author and political observer Gwen Ifill, host of Washington Week in Review and one of the anchors of The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer. Gwen and I are friends from my journalism deanship at the University of Maryland, where she was kind enough to serve on our Board of Visitors. She’s a warm and generous person, and because she likes any good reason to escape Washington she does her fair share of commencement speeches.

And because she’s such a good sport, she complained not a whit about the packed schedule we lined up for her.

Not long after she arrived in Green Bay on a late Saturday afternoon, I picked her up at the campus’ Kress Inn so that she could join us for a casual dinner and conversation at our home with about a dozen St. Norbert students. She held them rapt with the story of how she had moved into journalism after her own graduation from Simmons College in Boston, and progressed through a series of increasingly high-profile newspaper beats into broadcast work. She inquired about the career plans of each student at the table, alternately questioning and advising. She brought the same relaxed engagement to their discussion as she does to Washington Week or the last vice presidential debate. Which is to say she is thoroughly charming.

Then we headed for a reception at the home of our Trustee Ed Thompson, who has a beautiful place on the Fox River big enough to accommodate half of Green Bay—and that’s just about how many people were there, it seemed. Gwen held court in the living room for over an hour as guest after guest, fan after fan came up for an introduction, a quick conversation and a photo.

The party’s other two guests of honor were Ed’s friends Bart and Cherry Starr. Bart is the Hall of Fame quarterback who led the Lombardi-era Packers to five NFL championships, including the first two Super Bowls (and the reason Green Bay came to be known as Titletown). Bart and Cherry, married 56 years, now live in Alabama, but for decades they’ve been heavily involved in various charitable causes in Wisconsin, including helping found the remarkable Rawhide Ranch for wayward boys. They come back to the state often, and St. Norbert College was conferring honorary doctorates on them for their many contributions to the public welfare.

In fact, Bart and Cherry are big fans of Gwen, who in turn knew all about the championship Packers. (I had wondered whether she would and was appropriately chastised for my having doubted it; Gwen knows everything, it turns out.) So they all hit it off like old friends. There were pictures all around, and Gwen would take away a signed Packers mini-helmet as a memento of her Green Bay odyssey.

After a rather cool and damp week, commencement day dawned sunny and mild. The campus looked especially beautiful, as it usually does in mid-May given the season and the hard work of our dedicated grounds crew. Green never came in so many shades, and the sky was that crisp blue of spring, before summer’s humidity arrives to soften it.

Over Sunday brunch I was quite spoiled, with Gwen and Deb to my right and the Starrs to my left. The Starrs talked about their tenure in Green Bay, and how after several desultory years early in Bart’s career their lives changed forever when Coach Lombardi hit town. There was more than a little irony in what I was hearing, I realized. When I came to St. Norbert to interview as a presidential candidate, it was just ahead of the 2008 Super Bowl, and in an open forum with the faculty and staff I’d quoted Bart’s recollection of his introduction to Lombardi, back in 1959. The coach, freshly arrived from his native New York, had called together 15 or so Packer veterans—veterans of losing, mostly—and pointedly told them how he was going to break that habit. His goal for them, Lombardi said, was to chase perfection…knowing they wouldn’t achieve it, but hoping in the pursuit they would reach excellence. Now here was Bart Starr, recounting that same story, as passionately as if it had just happened to him yesterday. It was terribly moving.

But not as moving as when Cherry later remembered the last time they saw Lombardi. This was in 1970, two years after he’d left Green Bay for the Washington Redskins. The phone in the Starrs’ East De Pere home rang one afternoon, Cherry said, and she was surprised to find it was Coach Lombardi calling. He asked how she was, then whether Bart was there. No, but he’ll be back shortly, Cherry said, please come over.

By the time Lombardi arrived Bart had returned, and they showed the coach around their home. Lombardi pronounced it beautiful. Then Cherry said earnestly, “We owe it all to you, Coach. If you hadn’t come to Green Bay, Bart never would have had the success he did, and we would never have been able to live like this. Bart and I talk about it all the time—how we owe it all to you, and we will always be so grateful to you.”

She saw that tears were welling in Lombardi’s eyes. Wordlessly, he gently cradled her neck and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He turned to Bart and hugged him as well. Then he put on his coat and let himself out, still incapable of saying anything.

The next week he died in Washington, of cancer that few knew about until he passed. Cherry said they realized he had come to De Pere to say his goodbyes.

Fueled by such wonderful stories, the day passed in a blur. That afternoon, as we processed into our basketball arena, we were stunned that the place was almost literally packed to the rafters—filled to capacity in the three sides of bleachers, and the floor jammed as well. The combination of a near-record 490 graduates, the glorious day and the draw of Gwen Ifill meant our venerable Schuldes gym was straining to handle an overflow crowd.

Even for commencement, which is always happy, it seemed an unusually joyful day. For one thing, the ceremony moved along at a good clip—no four hours for St. Norbert! For another, the students were all beaming as they crossed the stage to receive their diplomas, especially in about a dozen cases when sons or daughters of St. Norbert faculty or employees joined me onstage to help deliver the diploma (a lovely custom here). It also helped that the student speaker, Patrick Sutherland, was spot-on in his remarks.

And so, too, was the featured speaker, Gwen. As I was seated immediately behind her, I got to watch the graduates spread immediately before her, and they were hanging on every word. Like you want every commencement speaker to be but so few are, she was funny and witty and wise, all at once—and not too long. “No one ever complained about a commencement speech that was too short,” she noted at one point. Thanks again, Gwen.

                                                                        *

Several days later, then, Deb and I flew to Maryland for our last bit of commencement business—to see Helen graduate with an art degree from the University of Maryland.

Shortly before we left Wisconsin she had called giddily to say she’d just turned in the final final exam of her UM career. Was ever a student more ready to be liberated from college? For months now she’d been counting down the days. As I’m typing, in fact, she’s standing in the kitchen doing a kind of dance somewhere between a shimmy and a jig. Why so happy, I ask? “Because I’m graduating today!” she says. So, no graduate school? I ask. “Not unless I have to!” she replies, still shimmying. We’ll see.

Helen did extremely well in college, but she never really enjoyed schoolwork the way some of the other girls have. And with the overlay of the wedding, with Mike being so far away and with her own building anticipation, this past semester was a near-eternity for her. But as it always does, eventually, the big day arrived.

Helen skipped the huge university-wide commencement; at Maryland, which has more than 5,000 graduates a year, individual students are recognized in departmental or school-specific graduation ceremonies. On an unusually hot day for May, we were glad to be in the air-conditioned confines of the campus’ student union for the Art Department commencement.

There were maybe 60 students getting their bachelor’s degrees in art, along with a handful of master’s students. The intimate size was nice, in that the faculty emcee, Professor James Thorpe, could say a few words about each of the graduates without anyone feeling the press of time. When it came time to recognize Helen, Professor Thorpe choked up a bit. He talked a bit about her talent, as well as the fact that she had a Navy helicopter pilot in training sending his love her way; and then, caught up in that, he told the audience that in October Helen was getting married to the young ensign in a triple wedding ceremony with two of her sisters! The audience gasped in astonishment, and Jim allowed as how “this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard of!”

The extra attention made Helen blush and well up a bit as she crossed the stage, and she gave her prof a big hug. But mostly, I think, it was unalloyed joy at being finished with school.

Afterward we visited at the departmental reception and took some family photographs with Helen in her robe—better proof that a child has actually graduated than any diploma!—then said our goodbyes, as we raced off to BWI to catch a flight back to Green Bay.

                                                                        *

With Helen’s commencement over, everyone’s summer plans began to kick in. Nick and Katie actually flew back to Green Bay with Deb and me in order to participate in a pre-wedding couples encounter at the Norbertine Abbey, and shortly they will move into a small apartment in downtown Silver Spring, only a few minutes’ walk from the Metro. The move will cut in half, or more, Katie’s work commute to downtown Washington. Nick is about to take a preparatory course ahead of the Maryland bar exam, which awaits him at the end of July. Then in August he’ll begin a yearlong stint clerking for a justice in Maryland’s Court of Appeals, its highest court.

Claire’s teaching winds up in two weeks, and Sam continues busy with his work at the research lab. Gracie is starting an internship at the Smithsonian Institution with an entomologist, and in the meantime she also landed a nice, 20-hour gig (having to do with insect cataloguing, I believe) at the U.S. Department of Agriculture offices just outside College Park. And way down in Florida, Mike is just weeks away from the end of his training; it won’t be long before all of us find out where he and Helen will be stationed.

But we do know where Helen will be spending the summer—in De Pere, Wisconsin. Her Maryland career done, she is packing up and coming our way very soon.

I don’t know what I will do with that much wedding-planning power united under one roof.

I should also mention that as of a few weeks ago, we sold the house in Burtonsville, Maryland that we bought in 1997. After hanging onto it these past two years, through that s’more-soft real estate market, we felt things had rebounded enough to move forward. After Deb’s earlier trip to oversee the house’s buffing up, we planted the For Sale sign in the front yard…and crossed our fingers. From the start we saw a surprising amount of traffic, and in about three weeks we had a deal. Whew! Maybe we’ll be able to pay for this mega-wedding after all!

But that also means this current short stay is my last one at the house, and I’m a little blue about that. Deb will return in a few weeks to oversee a final clear-out. Various pieces of furniture and keepsakes will go to the girls, and the rest will go toward a yard sale and to Goodwill. And that will be that.

In our long, peripatetic marriage Deb and I have lived in a dozen different homes, most of which we’ve owned. The Burtonsville house, which we moved into in the summer of 1997, was the one we’d occupied longest, more than twice the tenure of any other place. It became as comfortable to us as worn jeans.

I loved its large, three-season porch that overlooked a spacious backyard full of mature trees. That included a tall maple whose trunk, at about ten feet up from the ground, broke into five sturdy branches like a crown—a perfect place for a Dad-built tree house, now a little worse for the wear (as are we all) but still standing watch out there. I loved the quiet neighborhood, not a bad drive into downtown Washington or Baltimore but far enough out to leave the city craziness behind. The warm family room had one wall done entirely in rustic brick, punctuated by a large fireplace and hearth. The main floor had an in-law suite, where Deb’s mother, Norma, lived with us for six years. The master bedroom suite was large and comfortable, and the bath featured a spa-like tub where I spent many happy hours soaking, reading and thinking Big Thoughts. The large basement was mostly finished, a great place for teens to crash. In fact, for most of the time we lived there, usually teens were crashing down there. It was a kind of safe haven for them, which always made Deb and me feel good.

            There are memories of the J school’s staff Christmas parties, and every year getting a huge Christmas tree for the front foyer because its two-story height seemed to want one. There are memories of all those proms and Christmas dances, of eager young men coming through the front door…and some of them destined to be fiancés, as it turned out.

Maybe my favorite spot was the porch swing out back. I used to love swinging while listening to the radio, sometimes far into the evening as the lights of the neighborhood gradually came on. It was a great relaxer and got me through more than a few tense patches at work.

On my final day at the house, I spent a few final hours in that swing. It was a beautiful morning, sunny and warm. And for my amusement there was a little drama playing out right in front of me, free of charge. A couple of blue jays were ferociously defending their hatchlings against a sortie party of crows. Their respective strategies were fascinating to watch. The crows sort of nonchalantly strolled the grounds, as if they had nothing more on their minds than simply enjoying a fine spring day, while the much smaller blue jays frenetically zipped back and forth, tree to tree, buzzing the crows and making sure they didn’t get too comfortable in the neighborhood. After he’d had enough of this hectoring, the lead crow took flight and absconded across the yard to the north; the momma blue jay flew right beside him, like a fighter jet escorting a 747 out of restricted airspace.

I guess it’s pretty universal, the impulse to protect one’s nest. Now here we are, breaking up what was ours for more than a decade. Make no mistake; it’s been a joyful trip, being here to witness Helen taking this monumental step in her life. But sitting on the porch swing, knowing it’s for the last time, it feels pretty melancholy, too.

NEXT: The view from the other side.

Thomas Kunkel is president of St. Norbert College in De Pere, Wisconsin.

I Do, I Do, I Do (Ch. 9)

The story of four daughters, three couples,

two parents and one very big wedding

By Thomas Kunkel

CHAPTER 9: SPRING FEVER

Click here for previous chapters:  Ch.8   Ch.7   Ch.6   Ch. 5   Ch. 4   Ch. 3   Ch. 2   Ch. 1   

May, 2010

I was in our basement rec room working on my computer when I suddenly had the sensation that someone was looking at me. I glanced up at the casement window that’s at ground level, and sure enough, a plump robin was out there staring right in. In fact, he was staring at me so intently, for a good 30 seconds or more, that I think he may have been trying to tell me something. Like, “Hey, dummy, get your fanny out of the man cave! All the action is out here!”

He was right. It’s been an early and splendidly mild spring in northeastern Wisconsin, and the local wildlife has been busy. Earlier that day I looked out that same window to see a mallard and his lady friend walking side by side, briskly headed down to the river as if Noah himself had just summoned them.

Squirrels chase scratchily on our roof, and down below rabbits bound across the backyard, the wise ones keeping one eye peeled for the eagle who sometimes perches in a tree next door, or the great owl who has a nest in the willow down by our dock. The owl has been mothering two owlets, and with binoculars we’ve been able to watch them grow taller right along with the lengthening days. Whenever we come out the back door, the mom will vacate the nest in a long, graceful swoop over the river to the north, same flight path each time. She is beautiful to behold but not a little intimidating, and frankly one can imagine her swooping away with our little Italian greyhound Sammy were he to venture too close to the tree. So for the past few days when we let him out, we tend to chaperone him, as pathetic as that sounds.

On campus, the native species have awakened as well. The surest sign there of spring’s beckoning? The first sighting of shorts and flip-flops. Of course, the thermometer may only have hit, say, 40 degrees, but for some of the braver, winter-wearier guys (always the guys, never the girls), that’s a veritable heat wave. But before long, everyone seems to be out jogging. You delight in the fact that there is grass where a year ago there was permafrost, and you notice driving home that the baseball team is starting its home games.

In Wisconsin, though, there is one true, universally awaited harbinger of spring: the release of the new Green Bay Packers schedule. An entire state puts its fall and winter calendar on hold until the NFL fills in half of it for us.

And with that development, incidentally, the Triple Wedding essentially went viral.

Here’s the connection. Because the Packer schedule is such a big deal hereabouts, news outlets cover it like it was a congressional declaration of war. But year in and year out, reporters are challenged to find a fresh, unpredictable angle to this most predictable of stories. Impacted most immediately are the area’s hotels, many of which impose premium rates for Packer home weekends. It’s not uncommon for their prices to double, or even triple, and some hotels even make customers reserve rooms for three nights. But the rates can’t be firmed up, of course, until the Great Schedule Release.

Well, because the Kunkels seemed to be in need of half the hotel rooms in Green Bay, we definitely were rooting for it to be an “away” week. And that was as good a media hook as any.

It started with a phone call from Jim Stingl, a popular columnist for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. With the upcoming schedule release as his angle, Jim talked to Deb and me, as well as the girls, and published a lovely article about the wedding in the Sunday paper, accompanied by several photographs of the couples taken by Nick’s sister, Katie.

As is customary these days, the online version of the story solicited comments from readers. Most of these were lovely too, from people charmed by the idea of three sisters and their grooms sharing their special day. One writer was especially perceptive, I thought, when he (it must be a he) wrote: “Congrats to the father if he makes it through all this without being institutionalized.”  A small number were the kind of snarky posts that pervade most such comment strings. But the comment that freaked the girls out a bit came courtesy of Your Welcome, who said, referencing a photo of the three girls, “The one on the left is the hottest.” I think that’s when they realized that their wedding officially had moved into a wacky, albeit a tad creepy, domain.

And that might have been that, except a “tip service” apparently picked up Jim’s story and called it to the attention of various news outlets. That very day we were contacted by producers of one of the networks’ morning news shows, who initially wanted to know whether Deb and I and the three couples and Maid of Honor Grace could possibly come to New York—that week—and do a spot on the show. Given our respective schedules and disparate location, that would have been about as simple as mobilizing the National Guard, so we’re instead talking to them about maybe doing it when we all gather for Helen’s graduation.

We got a call from an editor for a national newspaper expressing interest in covering the wedding. Two local stations here in Green Bay did amusing features about the wedding, again pegged to the upcoming release of the Packers’ schedule, and those were also broadcast in Milwaukee. The story turned up on Glamour Brides’ online site. The Green Bay paper did its own story, too.

Maybe the oddest call—or calls, as we heard from not one but two of their producers—came from a reality show, Whose Wedding Is It Anyway? Needless to say, this meant nothing to me, but the girls were familiar with it. They enjoy it for the same reasons most folks do—because the people involved are cast as antagonists, and as the arguments mount you begin to wonder whether there will even be a wedding left to claim. But they were not remotely interested in being battling brides.

All the attention, the fact that the wedding is getting well beyond a family affair, leaves the girls a little conflicted, I think, and understandably so. Themselves products of a media age, they admit to enjoying some of the outside curiosity. At the same time, that attention can be uncomfortable. In an email about the idea of a national television appearance, Helen captured their mixed feelings.  “It makes me a little nervous mostly because it’s a lot of attention that I’m not used to, but I think it would be fun,” she wrote. “I guess it’s just weird to me. I mean, I know triple weddings are rare, but I still see it as a wedding—something that happens all the time, not necessarily some big event making national news. If that makes any sense…”

It does. But we also appreciate, in every sense, that a lot of people are fascinated with their story. So everyone agrees we’ll just roll with it and see what happens, even as we try to keep everything in perspective.

In addition to the posts in response to his column, Jim Stingl received a number of emails from readers who were passing along their own experiences with, or memories of, multiple nuptials. Jim was kind enough to share those with us.

One writer told of three brothers from Austria who, a century ago this year, were married in a triple ceremony immediately before setting sail to far-off Milwaukee, Wisconsin. A woman wrote to let Jim know that 39 years ago she and her two sisters were also married in a triple wedding in Park Falls, Wisconsin. Another wrote to relay the story of a Stevens Point, Wisconsin couple who were marrying off three daughters within the calendar year.

But the most remarkable tale was about three sisters from rural Wisconsin who married three brothers. (How about that for an episode of Whose Wedding Is It Anyway?!!) This occurred in 1938. The last of the six passed away in 2008.

In a way it’s kind of sweet knowing that, while a triple wedding is rare indeed, it does happen more often than any of us realized. Maybe we’re not the oddities we thought!

Oh, yes. The Packers schedule did finally come out, and there was much jubilation. It turns out that on wedding weekend the Packers are playing out of town. Ironically, they are headed to Washington, even as all my daughters, two of my sons-in-law-to-be and a small army of their friends are headed to Green Bay. Maybe they can all wave to one another somewhere over Akron.

                                                            *

Amid all this, the more serious business of wedding planning was picking up again. For instance, it was fascinating to watch a three-day flurry of activity surrounding the coming-together of the wedding invitations. You would think that would be a pretty straightforward project, but you would be wrong.

For starters, an “invitation” is not just one card but a full portfolio of elements—envelopes, the actual invitation card, the RSVP card, an information card with hotel rooms, and so forth. Helen, bridal planner extraordinaire and budding graphic designer, logically enough was handling this herself.

Instead of a traditional design (e.g., calligraphy-styled typography on cream-colored heavy stock), Helen’s design is contemporary and deceptively simple. It features three yellow flowers, with an accent border across the top of navy blue. The look is appropriately elegant yet fresh.

The interesting thing to watch, though, was the seemingly endless vetting process and all the backing and forthing—between Helen and Deb, between Deb and me, between Helen and me, between Helen and her sisters, between Deb and the grooms’ families, between Deb and my colleague Amy. When other people’s wedding invitations hit your mailbox, you certainly never think of all the blood, sweat and possibly even tears that went into them, but I will never look at one quite the same way again.

Take that extraneous third L out of “College.” Make those flowers a little lighter so the superimposed type is easier to read. Make the babysitting service complimentary instead of complementary. Doesn’t “honour” instead of “honor” sound effete? Take the “th” off October 9^th. Add ZIP codes to those hotel addresses. How do the grooms’ parents want their names presented? Honestly, you’d have thought we were proofreading the invitations for the Obamas’ next state dinner.

But as every wedding planner knows, the devil is in the details, and after all this virtual confabbing the final product, I have to say, is marvelous. Helen has a future, no doubt about it.

Incidentally, the invitations will be printed locally—more stimulus for the Green Bay economy. Deb says about everything in the wedding is being bought or provided locally except the linens, and she says the linens aren’t available locally. On the other hand, a horse-drawn carriage is available locally. I know, because the guy just called me, unbidden, to let me know.

If you’ve been following my account, you know I haven’t exactly been in the middle of the wedding planning. Not long ago, however, Helen did ask me to help with the shaping of the ceremony itself, especially as to the music they select. I was flattered, certainly, but at the same time the pressure was on!

It will be a Catholic service, but not a Mass. Though the framework is still taking shape, we know it will have many familiar liturgical rituals, such as several Biblical readings, a Responsorial Psalm and Prayers of the Faithful. But with three nuptials to be administered, the ceremony will be long enough as it is without the incorporation of a full-blown Mass.

It all kicks off, of course, with the procession. At the moment—all this is subject to change, so make sure to buy a program—Dad will escort Katie in first, then Claire, then Helen. Helen suggested that each of the girls and their retinues should have a different fanfare but that somehow they should be related for a sense of continuity. I have suggested Henry Purcell’s “Trumpet Voluntary,” followed by “Trumpet Tune” by Jeremiah Clarke and Daniel Purcell, followed by “Prelude to Te Deum” by Marc-Antoine Charpentier. The three fanfares might be played by actual trumpets, which I proposed for the clarion drama, though Helen may be leaning toward using violin versions for the subtlety. Like everyone else, I will probably find out when I walk down the aisle.

The girls are not huge fans of solo numbers, or music for music’s sake. They want any music in the service to be connected to some accompanying activity. We are thinking of asking five or six of St. Norbert’s very talented student singers to form a kind of mini-chorus, but that idea, much less what they might sing, is still evolving.

Anyway, when they get down to business, each priest will deliver a short homily about his couple, then preside over that couple’s exchange of vows. That will happen consecutively rather than have all three be done together. This format will reinforce the idea that each couple within the triple must have “their” special moment. Besides, we don’t want the nuptials to come off like one of Reverend Moon’s bulk-wedding spectacles.

After the exchange of vows, I thought they might want to incorporate a six-way candle-lighting ceremony—if the fire marshal will let us, with that many lighted tapers being waved around. I also suggested it could be accompanied by the ethereal “Flower Duet” from Lakme. But Helen responded, “The ‘Flower Duet’ doesn’t sound like an easy song to sing, plus it reminds me of a Godiva commercial.” I take that as a no. Plus, they apparently hate the candle-lighting idea. I feel my commission slipping….

Anyway, when everybody’s all married up good and official, the couples will recess in the same order they came in. My suggestion for the music there was Jean-Joseph Mouret’s “Rondeau,” but Helen says, um, probably not. “I want something with a little more excitement,” she said. “I think this song is a tad blah. Hope I wasn’t too mean.” Not at all, Helen—and don’t get up, I can let myself out. (But you’ll still get my bill.)

So who knows what the heck kind of music will be playing at this wedding. Regardless, the recessional order will put Helen and Mike out the door last, which will accommodate that Navy sword arch that Mike’s fellow officers will be forming up.

And then, incredibly, Deb and I will have three married daughters and three new sons.

                                                                        *

My last journal began with the sports report. This one concludes with it.

On the last Sunday of April I had the opportunity to throw out the ceremonial first pitch at the Milwaukee Brewers game at beautiful Miller Park. St. Norbert College was part of an event there with other Wisconsin private schools, and the first pitch came with the deal.

I had two goals: Keep my manhood (translation: don’t bounce the ball to the plate); and don’t wind up on that night’s SportsCenter. Had the latter happened, that would have meant something had gone very, very wrong.

After the lovely, largely dry spring I was celebrating at the top of this installment, game day dawned cold and windy, with heavy showers. In truth, the rain was badly needed, but the timing was terrible. If the team had been playing in their old park, this raw day would have been a rainout for sure. But the Brewers (and the taxpayers of Greater Milwaukee) were thoughtful enough to build Miller Park with a fancy retractable dome, so their game against the Chicago Cubs went off as planned.

About 25 minutes before the game I went down to the Brewers dugout, where a team official met me and explained the drill. There actually would be three people throwing out ceremonial first pitches, which I learned is not uncommon. I had plenty of time to survey the crowd, which appeared to be at least half Cubs fans. The Cubs are division rivals whose own ballpark is just 60 miles away. No wonder some refer to Miller Park as “Wrigley North.”

The team official gave me my ball ahead of time. That was good, as I could rub it with my increasingly sweaty palms.

A young lady went first. From in front of the mound she tossed in a perfectly respectable lob. Second was a young man who marched right out and confidently threw a nice pitch letter-high.

My turn. As they announced my name and St. Norbert affiliation, I headed to the mound—careful, of course, to avoid the freshly chalked first base line so as not to jinx the home team. It’s not a far walk—unless you are making it in front of nearly 40,000 people. Under those circumstances it’s less a walk than an out-of-body experience. Still, I did remember to turn and wave to my St. Norbert friends watching up in the “Dew Deck” high above right field.

Only when I reached the pitching rubber did I turn to home, where I saw Brewers catcher George Kottaras crouched behind the plate. Intellectually, I understood that he was only 60 feet six inches away from me—so why did it seem more like 500 yards? After a decade of playing organized baseball and a few weeks of practice, suddenly I wasn’t sure I could get the ball that far with a catapult!

A little blood rushed away from my brain, but before I could get even more nervous I told myself, “You’ve done this a million times, just throw it.” Which I did.

If there’d been a lefty at bat I’d have hit him. Still, under the circumstances my pitch got the job done—it was about knee high and George caught it just fine, with no lunging or extraneous effort. He shook my hand and gave me the ball, which he then signed.

When I got back up to the Dew Deck, Deb told me I had done fine. But after a moment, she noted that I seemed to take a long time to get to the mound. “You could have put a little more skip in your step,” she said, helpfully.

I explained to her that I took so long to get to the mound because as I walked my legs were turning to concrete. Besides, if I’d actually skipped out to the mound, I’d have wound up on SportsCenter for sure.

NEXT: Commencing

Thomas Kunkel is president of St. Norbert College in De Pere, Wisconsin.