What is it? The tale of a wedding.

Yesterday evening we dressed to the nines, borrowed a Rolls which belongs to distant in-laws, and made our way to Beverly Hills for the much-anticipated nuptials of a has-it-all cousin. Later, after the ceremony, a dinner, and sentimental dances, the toasts started. A groomsman, yet another cousin, took advantage of the attention and chose to brutally and mercilessly roast the groom. It was the sort of thing one reads about in novels or sees on television. The audience didn't know whether to laugh or cry or rush the guy. It was the longest seven minutes I've ever experienced at a celebration.

When I took a walk to get some fresh air, patent leather shoes in hand, a program stuffed into my purse, I saw the bride and groom embroiled in the agonizing aftermath. Cake was put off and the music was going full-blast to distract. I was glad to be on the outside, glad to not have a heart broken. It wasn't for lack of empathy, but rather from intimate knowledge. I knew the intense roasting was evidence that an old resentment had transfered to a new generation - it was this old resentment in fact that had broken my father's spirit years before: the "have's" versus the "have-nots" within a single familial group.

"Shocking."

"Tragic."

"A waste of energy and imagination."

Today when thinking on what happened, I feel saddened that my father died without ever fully realizing what he had: his very own loving family and an innate ability to enjoy life. We always had enough love among ourselves to get by without all the fancy decorations.