Mending a Broken Heel

Next week marks the birthday of two people who influenced me. One passed away a few years ago and the other one I haven’t had much contact with over the last decade. These two people are my Uncle Butch and Aunt Barbara.

Their upcoming birthdays remind me of my first wedding. I wasn’t the bride, but the flower girl for my Aunt Barbara and Uncle Butch. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that they chose me because I had been their date chaperone. Well, at least I thought I was. They started dating when they were in high school before I was even in grade school. Uncle Butch picked up Aunt Barbara from her house and then they would get me. We did so many fun things together. Sometimes we just drove around and I even got to sit in the front seat with them. I felt “all grown up.” As we drove through town my friends saw me waving from the backseat. The next day, I bragged about going on a real date before most of my friends even knew what one was.

On their wedding day Aunt Barbara looked beautiful in her white gown and Uncle Butch looked dapper in his tuxedo. I was dressed in a miniature version of the bridesmaid’s dresses in white taffeta with a beautiful royal blue bow around my waist. I was nervous about what I was supposed to do. Aunt Barbara comforted me and said that I would take the petals from the basket and drop them onto the white carpet runner in the aisle from the back of the church to the alter. I was just getting ready to ask how many to throw and where to toss them, when one of her bridesmaids ran into the room holding her beautifully hand-dyed, royal blue shoe with a broken heel. There was no way to find a replacement blue shoe. This was “pre-superglue,” so they used Elmer’s glue and tape. We hoped it would stay intact through the ceremony.

Aunt Barbara turned to me and said that I would need to throw the petals on the sides of the carpet so that the bridesmaid wouldn’t slip and break her heel. Oh no, too many directions confused me. Besides, I was tired from all of the parties, the rehearsal dinner and being at the church for several hours. All of this was a prescription for disaster for a tired, nervous little girl.

The music started. Someone pushed me from behind to get started down the aisle. The big people were standing up and staring down at me which was very intimidating. I carefully reached into my white, wicker basket and pulled out one rose petal and watched it float to the floor. I reach in for a second one, then a third. By then I was about halfway down the aisle.

My Mother was sitting on the end of the front row. She made hand gestures at me that didn’t make any sense. I mouthed to her, “What?” Then she whispered to put down more petals. I turned around and saw that there were only a few on the carpet and my basket was full. Mom didn’t know about the broken heel or that I was told to not throw them in the middle of the aisle. She said it out loud this time, “Throw more petals.” So, always one to obey (yeah, right) I turned my basket upside down and dumped all the petals into a pile at the end of the aisle. It got quite a laugh from the crowd.

Instantly I knew I shouldn’t have done it. I climbed the stairs onto the stage and took my place facing the congregation. The bridesmaids, who had followed me down the aisle, saw the pile and gasped. Luckily, the broken-heeled bridesmaid was able to avoid it and all was well. Except when I stepped backwards and fell off the stage. Now, that was embarrassing!

Today’s gift was to write this story and send it in a birthday card to my Aunt Barbara. I told her that I enjoyed our time together over the years. Uncle Butch is missed, especially on his birthday. I think mending the broken heel was much easier than mending Aunt Barbara’s broken heart.

In Giving,

Robin