We were at a cedar barn for the wedding of our nephew, with rows of chairs set out on either side of a trellis overlooking a man-madepond. The left was for members of the bride's party, and the right for us; except we were vastly outnumbered byher many …  | By Luisa A. Igloria on July 15, 2024 | We were at a cedar barn for the wedding
of our nephew, with rows of chairs set out
on either side of a trellis overlooking a man-made
pond. The left was for members of the bride's party,
and the right for us; except we were vastly outnumbered by
her many relations and friends. All this made me recall stories
about my parents' marriage: how it must have been a feat
of rhetorical and other kinds of persuasion, considering how long
my paternal grandmother held out before she gave her grudging
consent. My mother was only a farmer's daughter. But she was
aware of the ways of a world that wanted to put people in their
imagined place. My parents' union lasted over thirty-five years,
until my father's death. My mother, never the favorite
to begin with, counted as victory every year she outlasted. | | | |
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