from Notting Hill Editions
Craig Moore on what making wedding speeches brought out of him.
There are really only two occasions when friends and family gather to discuss our narrative publicly - our wedding and our funeral - and we're only around to listen at the former. This is why I've always taken my role as a wedding speaker seriously. I grew up with a group of beautiful and intelligent women, referred to as my harem. When the first member was getting married, I asked if I could deliver a toast at her wedding, and she and her future husband agreed. A lifetime of reading and watching movies had given me an innate sense of how to construct a narrative. I would pull the crowd in with humour, and end with a subtle but distinct emotional punch in the gut. So I delivered my speech, reduced much of the room to tears and a wedding speaker was born.
That night I was signed up on the spot to speak at the weddings of all five members of my harem. These speeches helped solve my ongoing problem of always attending weddings alone. Anyone who has experienced this knows how tough it can be. As all these couples gather to celebrate a new addition to the Happy Ever After club, those of us without someone stick out like a sore thumb. But I was missing the irony of always being the bridesmaid but never the bride, twice being the sole male member of the bridal party. The years went on and the final wedding arrived, but I felt I was becoming a hack. So comfortable was I with my ability to structure a speech, I kept putting off preparation for my swansong, convinced I would be able to spew it out once inspiration hit. But it kept getting closer - and no speech was being written. There was an added pressure, beyond the fact that it was going to be my last toast. The recipient had always found relationships as confusing as myself. Although she was more courageous with dating than I, she always found adjusting to other people and their idiosyncrasies mystifying. As all our married friends started having children, both of us bought houses alone. And, when I told her I was a bit depressed that I was moving on with my life alone, she said she knew exactly how I felt. She flew from Vancouver to visit me in Toronto, to try to make me feel better. She told me a lot about a man she had met, and the happiness she was feeling was vicariously passed on to me. I wanted to make this speech the best one of all.
I would write the speech on the plane to Vancouver, but had forgotten one thing: I had a baby on my lap. Wedding Speeches One and Two were also attending, who between them had a baby under one year, and twins approaching two. I had to have one of these twins on my lap during the flight, but they wanted nothing to do with me. Things went from bad to worse once we arrived. Adding to the tension was the relationship between Wedding Speeches One, Two and myself. We had once been an indestructible trio but the challenges of raising families had started to isolate us from one another. Selfishly, I had hoped this trip might repair our relationship, but we ended up spending most of our time chasing babies around whilst checking their feeding and sleeping schedules.
When Wedding Speech Five came to visit our rented apartment, she suggested that I ditch the families and abandon our planned trip to Whistler. Instead, I should stay with her, along side her newborn baby and husband to be. Realizing that a wedding speech would never get written as long as I was a substitute father, I guiltily abandoned Wedding Speeches One and Two and took up the more peaceful offer. Wedding Speech Five's fiancé was an accomplished individual, and his brother, a professor of literature in New York State, was also making a speech at the wedding. It was already written. And I, a jumpy kindergarten teacher, had an incomplete speech. So I sat, chain-smoking and drinking, furiously tapping away at my laptop while the soon to be married couple, the twin brother and lovely wife watched from the window, expecting a speech of cataclysmic genius to be delivered by this crazed visitor. On the morning of the wedding, I had a notebook full of incomplete ideas and ramblings - but still no speech. I would have to get some time alone. I couldn't get back into the other apartment before Wedding Speeches One and Two arrived back from Whistler, and I knew for sure that I needed to get out of the house of the soon to be married. So, running on 20 minutes of sleep, I walked their dog. As I walked, I suffered a fairly significant nervous breakdown. Looking back, I can see that all my neuroses had collided into a perfect storm. I wasn't thinking rationally, so I called Wedding Speech One.
"Craig? Is everything okay?" she asked.
"Um. I think I'm having a nervous breakdown and I have to make a speech in front of a
group of strangers. It's a disaster."
"Where are you?"
"I'm walking their dog. I can't go back to their house. They hate me and I'm ruining
everything!"
"You know this is all in your head, don't you?"
"Its not!" I screamed. "This is happening!"
I had painted myself into a corner. I can now look back at that morning with humour, through the healing passage of time; but that morning was the most terrifying of my life. I slunk into the kitchen of the Bride and Groom, and told them I would just pack my things, and get out of their hair. I called a cab and we all waited in a silence so palpable I could almost taste it.
Finally in the familiar company of myself, I started writing. And it came, a speech about feeling speechless. I said that I was speechless about the amazing husband my friend had found, and the group of friends she had. But most importantly, I could see how happy she was being a mother, and I was so happy for her that I was speechless. And when I delivered my speech that night at her beautiful wedding, I accomplished my mission. I made her cry.
The wedding was a success. We all celebrated well into the night as I basked in the congratulations for delivering such a heartfelt speech. I was sure that, after a day like that, I would wake up relieved for the first time in months. When I felt no relief the next day, I realised I still had one last thing I needed to say, or I would never get on with my life. As all the babies were being put down for naps, I asked the question I had always secretly known the answer to.
"Do you think, just maybe, the guy who has spoken at five weddings now, but never
brought a date, might be gay?"
There was a long pause.
"Craig, what are you telling us?" asked Wedding Speech One.
"I'm gay. Of course I am."
"What? I have spent my entire life telling people you are not gay!"
I will take that day to the grave with me. The love and support they gave instantly melted away the 35 years of angst I had been harbouring. We talked and drank and laughed and connected in a way that we hadn't in years. I knew how lucky I was to have these people in my life. It was the best night of my life, and one I wish upon everyone who finally accepts their sexuality publicly. But, as I have tried to adjust to my new lifestyle, I am armed with a couple of moments from that time in my life. I am armed by the love and support I received from all my family and friends as I came out to them.
And I am armed with the feeling I felt when I walked back into my house after returning from the airport. It was the feeling of exhaustion and comfort that can only come from returning home. And I imagine I felt like the bride and groom when the wedding is over, that overwhelming sense of excitement one feels with the knowledge that, in the morning, they will step back into their old life from an entirely new perspective.