Nothing brings relatives
and friends closer together than reunions, weddings, and dances.
I was lucky enough on the thirteenth of May 2000 to attend all three.
Eric and Carla were officially married, and the festivities would now begin.
This
absolute blessing of amateur photography happened as the newlyweds came
together, joined hands, and looked upon each other with fresh new eyes.
Time for us was constant, as time for Eric and Carla Preston floated like
a blissful whale in the ocean. I don't remember what the DJ was spinning,
but it was the perfect compliment for the most romantic sight to which
my tear-filled eyes had ever been exposed. It was about that point
that I realized my crazy, immature high school buddy was now grown up.
Of course, I'd expected it would happen, or had already. When I walked
into Circuit City back in August of 1999 still searching for some direction
to the rest of my academic life, and this six foot -- whatever employee
in the red preppy shirt called out my name, I was surprised. It was
a face I had never seen before with a goatee and short haircut. Little
did I know this stranger knew me far better than I've ever known myself.
This was my friend, who stayed up until three thirty AM once with me while
we were trying to unlock the secrets of AppleSoft BASIC program code.
The
one who hid with his brother in our spare bedroom while I asked my Dad
if it'd be OK if they came over and hung out a while. They stayed
hidden after Dad said "Ask your mother when she gets home," and after his
parents called wondering where the boys were. The gig was eventually
up. Eric's mom and dad were always surprisingly understanding of
me. No matter what trouble their son and I tried getting into, I
guess they figured he could be in a worse crowd. Mr. Preston was
a S.E.A.L. in his younger days, and Eric would sometimes reminisce about
the "I'd tell you but I'd have to kill you" stories. Mrs. Preston
always greeted me with kind words, even when I'd wake her up knocking on
the door in eleventh grade if Eric wasn't on the porch waiting to ride
to school with me. Eleventh was the year I wasn't getting along with
my own parents, primarily because it was the trendy way to be. It
was also a time when Eric and I had a few tests to our friendship, in the
form of occasional driving arrangements, and in a few cases, girls.
When
Eric and his bride finished their first dance to their first song, Carla
remained to dance with this man, who I believe is her dad, but whom I've
never met. As soon as it's confirmed, this page will reflect the
change. I felt happy for Carla knowing that she was an incredibly
fortunate girl, but there was also concern. From the look in her
eyes, one could tell she was quite weak in the knees. As soon as
she came my way I hugged her and asked was everything allright, and I wouldn't
be surprised if she doesn't even remember that. Amazingly though,
Carla is not the fainting type, and she stayed active well into the evening
to help clean up. Of course, the Rutherford High School International
Baccalaureate program produces no slouches. She's graduating this
Fall with two majors I can hardly pronounce, much less comprehend, while
Eric is Network Administrator Extraordinare. It all goes to show
that most people actually get smarter once they start college, while the
rest of us go into Comm Arts.
On
another special occasion, I caught the newlyweds dancing with their mothers
simultaneously. It was altogether fitting and proper, as the very
next day would be dedicated to them. Carla's mom is active in the
Garden Club, just as my own Grandma has been for most of her life.
Mrs. Hill stayed until the last proverbial grain of rice was accounted
for that evening, and I'm sure she'd been there much earlier setting up.
She's the kind of person who you've known for a very long time, even if
you've just met her. Kind of like a new Elton John song, and you
can't really tell whether it's new or old. You just know it awakens
a very sweet emotion within you, and might as well have been sung to Adam
and Eve themselves. I take comfort in knowing that however many little
erics or carlas there are running around in the future, they will have
two very special grandmas to look up to.
For
a short break in the festivities came the formalities. Carla threw
the traditional bouquet, 
which was caught by Elizabeth Williams. It really wasn't a mad dash
situation, I think Beth was pretty much the favorite for receiving this
award. She and I stood and talked for a long while during the reception.
She told me about the time back when she first saw The Exorcist,
and how later that night Eric and Sean crawled under her bed as she slept
and started "levitating" it around the room. It definitely sounds
like a Sean idea, if you ask me. Her mother did some hanging out
with us as well. I've been in and out of Sean and Beth's house several
times, but had not met their mother before now. Here she is seen
participating in Beth's little victory dance. Too bad she had no
idea who would catch the next prize.
Justin
Hooks is one interesting fellow. I've only known him a few short
years, but I have learned the important things. First don't ever
get into a car with him. Your heart will stop long before the inevitable
collision happens. Second, he loves to tell stories. Third,
he has a bit of a studdering problem, so the average story lasts 28.4 minutes.
Fourth, he's extremely wary of girls named Michelle. It goes almost
as far as a phobia. And finally, his name spells trouble. Just
look at that face. His rommate is an ultra nationalistic marine who
hates other countries, especially European ones. Therefore Justin
constantly blasts Rammstein whenever he gets the chance. He was once
pulled over on the Hathaway Bridge in Panama City for going like eighty
and passing cars. As the legend proceeds, the officer let him go
because he'd just heard on his radio that his wife had just had a baby.
And just think how many lives could have been spared by getting this guy
off the road for a little while. I'm only kidding about all this
Justin, you know we all love ya!
Now
in every group of partygoers in the South, there's always a few that know
all of those dances. Here we see a few of them in their natural
habitats. These three kind folks trying to make the Macarena hip
again are aunts and an uncle of Eric. The nice lady in Yellow yanked
me from an upcoming photograph to dance with her to some odd country tune
or another. It's good she did, because otherwise I wouldn't have
known everybody. 
Later,
Carla, Selena, and another unidentified girl are caught attempting either
the Electric Slide or the Boot Scootin' Boogie. Only us real good
southerners get learned how to Boot 'n' Scoot. Yeeehaw! It's
hard to film such a phenomenon sometimes, because for three out of the
four movements of the dance, everyone faces away from you, and by the time
you realize what they're about to do, you've got to wait out a whole other
round to get good footage. And there's really no point in attempting
to get them all to freeze-frame, since they're never quite in synch in
the first place. I guess there is some merit to everybody learning
how to dance exactly the same dang way. It's the same principle as
military drill and ceremonies, but with worse backup music. And those
people yelling aren't exactly commanding you to continue the drill.
Well,
all good pages come to an end, and who better to share the last dance,
than the kind folks who danced first. I loved this last shot of the
roll, because Eric shot me the look of "She's mine, none of you may have
her, I want her all to myself." All the tuxedos were piled up ready
to be returned, so this is as casual as anybody got that Saturday.
We also get a good glimpse of Carla's beautiful left leg. Hey, if
that ain't worth $9.99 for one-hour processing, what the heck is?!
And so they live on to dance another day. May they spend every year
just this close.