The young ring bearer | File photo courtesy of the author

This summer, I’ve been asked to join the official wedding party of my best friend, Charles Jason DePasquale. In my lifetime, I’ve only been an official member of a wedding party once and I screwed up. It’s hard to screw up as a ring bearer, but I did. This summer I’ve been promoted to groomsman. The pressure’s on. I can’t let Jason down. I think I’m going to throw up.

When I was 5, I served as the ring bearer at the nuptials of the daughter of some family friends. Veronica was her name. She was a cute and vivacious young woman who chose a strapping young man named Rob Markov to spend the rest of her life with. They were a perfect match. Veronica had big blonde hair (as was the style at the time) and was very nice to me. Rob was the captain of the local junior B hockey team and had a mustache that would have made Tom Selleck shake his hand. Theirs was the wedding of the season.

My only duty was to bear the ring, like Frodo minus Mordor and the clingy Samwise Gamgee. How hard is that? And do you know what I did? I messed it up.

What’s the most important part of a wedding ceremony? The walk down the aisle? The vows? The wedding party’s choreographed exit from the church set to Shakira’s “She Wolf”? Awoooo! No, it’s the first kiss. “You may now kiss the bride." That phrase is sacred and famous. Even a 5-year-old who’s distracted because the flower girls are showing off too much knows that.

During that special moment - their special moment - Rob and Veronica’s first kiss as a married couple, I did something unforgiveable. During the most important photo op of their lives, I leaned in and peeped. That’s right, my reptilian brain perved out. In my little tux with my little tux shoes I leaned way in to get a gander at the lip smacking and click, click, click, Rob and Veronica’s special moment was photobombed for eternity. This was before everyone was an amateur photographer, when the few cell phones that did exist ran on diesel. This one angle, Rob and Veronica at the altar kissing, me horn-doggedly leaning in for closer inspection, was the only picture they had of the beginning of their new lives together.

The ring bearer and the bride | File photo courtesy of the author

That picture hung in the living room of my childhood home alongside countless other horrible photographic reminders of my shortcomings. Pictures of dead pets, ex-girlfriends who dumped me and one too many images of Richard Retyi, pale and shirtless, during my chubby phase (age 8-present). The wedding photo, in particular, has silently haunted me until now, when it’s ignited repressed fears of wedding ruin.

I was trying to see what was happening. Anyone else would have done the same thing, right? I mean, I was caught up in the moment. Veronica was a catch, so maybe I wanted to learn from the master (Rob). But hundreds of friends and family must have looked at that picture over the years and, instead of cooing about the romance or Veronica’s dress or Rob’s majestic feather duster, remarked, “Who’s the little horn-dog in the monkey suit?”

Rob and Veronica have forgiven me (I think) and they’ve had a nice life together, living less than a half-mile from where I grew up. They have beautiful daughter named Ashley who herself is getting married soon. Unsurprisingly, I have not been invited to be an official member of their wedding party. The Markovs learned their lesson. Fool them once, shame on me. Fool them twice, “Why the hell did we invite a 33-year-old man to be the ring bearer again?”

Jason doesn’t have the benefit of the Markovs’ experience. The most official capacity I’ve served in his life was as a backup alarm clock during the summer of 2007. There’s a big difference between waking someone up to “Ypsilanti Won't You Let Me” by Annie Palmer and fulfilling the duties of a groomsman in his wedding. Actually, I’m not 100 percent sure what groomsmen do, but I’m anxious about two things in particular.

1) Looking good
Back in 1982, I was young, fit and had a snappy little kid haircut. The bar was much lower for looking good. Today I am old(er), unfit(ter) and have whatever haircut the students at the Aveda Institute feel like giving me that Wednesday afternoon. Photography has advanced and everyone has a Flickr account. Jason’s wedding pictures, from 12 different angles, will see the light of day and I’d like to not stand out as the disheveled schlubby one. It’s also a beach wedding, so I can’t blend in with the rest of the groomsmen in a run of the mill tux. I’ve been told the dress code is khaki pants and white button-down. I need to dress like a J. Crew model while working with JCPenney looks. I also don’t want to be the fattest guy lounging poolside in Vegas during next month’s bachelor party. I need to represent my friend Jason well in the city of brotherly lights and two spare tires and knee fat won’t do.

2) Etiquette and the Toast
Jason and Amy’s wedding will be intimate and reserved and I’ve been told I will have to give a toast. There will only be a handful of people in attendance and I’ll have to be on the best behavior. The situation makes me queasy. I’m fine at karaoke and I participated in open mic poetry once, but I’ve never given a heartfelt speech in my life. I’ve lectured, waxed, ranted, raved, bellowed, recited, rapped, riffed and railed - but heartfelt speeches are not on my curriculum vitae. I think toasts are supposed to open with a joke and be kept short. I’ve been to a number of weddings and I remember one best man’s toast that involved a story about a canoe, quicksand and beer. Nobody booed the best man, but, I mean, we were at a wedding. I think he was demoted to parking cars the next wedding he was invited to.

The wedding party | File photo courtesy of the author

I have until Aug. 26 to prepare (until July 28 to prepare for the bachelor party). In that time, I’ll enlist experts to help me look good and act good, building me into a wedding samurai by the time the big day rolls around. I’ll share my knowledge with you, faithful AnnArbor.com readers (you too Mom!) and offer resources to help you prepare for any upcoming weddings so when you get the Facebook wedding invite, or however they’re doing it these days, you aren’t an anxious ball of goo like I am right now.

Wish me luck, readers. The only thing we have to fear is total failure!

Look for part two of this feature in July.

(Richard Retyi writes the bi-weekly(ish) column Lie to Your Cats About Santa. He's not a reporter - let's just get that out of the way right here. Send fashion and etiquette tips or offer your wedding suggestions at richretyi@gmail.com. Read more of Rich's stuff HERE, or check out his blog Don't Take Christopher Walken Boating.)