My family has never gone in for grand celebrations. The weddings I remember, growing up in our small Southern town, were brief, pale affairs, with canapes and ginger ale punch afterward in the church social hall.
I’ve lived elsewhere for more than half my life now, mostly among people with big families and ethnic backgrounds and heartier celebratory traditions. From my friends I got the idea that children are obligated to throw a grand affair for major wedding anniversaries. As my parents’ fiftieth approached, I consulted my colleagues. Have it catered, they said, away from home. And be prepared for people to cry.
