Not the talk where you learn where babies come from, nor the talk where they tell you that you need to lay off the booze or take more frequent showers, but the talk where someone asks if he can marry your daughter.
Of course the snappy comeback to this is, "Let me think about it, and I'll get back to you." Nancy and I tried to pull that one off, but only a moment before giving the official parental okey-doke. It put me in mind of when my other son-in-law Drew asked for Catherine's hand in marriage. He'd called up and said "We need to talk." Nancy and I knew what was coming, of course, and couldn't have been more delighted.
Frankly, there have been times I have been worried for my daughters. They are, after all, my daughters, and it is not unreasonable to wonder if they might lack certain faculties of judgment and common sense; nevertheless, whatever else can be said of them, they have excellent taste in men.
It transpired Glenn had planned a minor masterpiece of subterfuge and split-second timing. He'd made dinner reservations at the spot where he'd propose. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her, friends and family gathered on a rooftop bar above the restaurant waiting for them to come up with the happy news.
The event was a perfect success, Glenn came up with Spencer wearing his ring, and she was thrilled to see all of us there. The evening couldn't have been better.
During the festivities I was sharing my wisdom, as is my wont, with some whippersnapper or other, and I imparted the only genuine insight I have about anything; Time is a real phenomenon, and it is relentless. It takes away so many things from us - it takes all things, in time - but it gives us gifts as well. It gives us adulthood, it gives us love, and marriage, and babies.
Last night was one of Time's gifts.
