The Father of the Bride is one of the most hapless of men, and thus is treated accordingly, writes Maurice Neligan
My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!
(Shakespeare Merchant of Venice; act 2 sc. 8)
I'M REALLY not like Shylock. At least I don't think I am, but there is something about a wedding that sets the Highest Authority and the Lesser Authorities delving among the ducats as if there was no tomorrow.
From this you can reasonably deduce that a Lesser Authority, Lisa, has become a Highest Authority in her own right. That, incidentally, does not remove her ability to reinforce my HA should I, by any chance, be perceived as becoming "difficult".
Sons, however, tend to scatter to the wind when faced with such problems. To return to the main theme, I did my duty and warned the unsuspecting groom to be, Dave, in hushed tones and well away from the distaff side of the family, that in Lisa's case the genes ran true from the Highest Authority. The poor fellow seemed to think that was wonderful and sleepwalked his way to his doom. God knows I tried, and now like the rest of us - he's on his own.
Truly there is no more helpless, hapless creature than the Father of the Bride. I had been there before, but time dulls these things and I was jolted back into reality.
He has basically only two functions, apart from a brief cameo appearance on the day of the ceremony. First and foremost, he signs the cheques. Secondly he acts as a whipping boy or sin eater, should there be even the slightest wobble in the battle plans.
I shudder to think what would happen if there was a real wobble. Talking of battle plans, these girls would have left Napoleon in the shade. No aspect of the logistics was neglected. His aphorism about marching to the sound of the guns was adjusted to "march to the sound of the ducats".
There are survival plans handed down from previous holders of the office. These are obviously unwritten. Who would dare write them down?
The most important is an expansion of the injunction usually given to little children: you should be neither seen nor heard. That is basically true but it does not guard against the inevitable: "Where were you? I've been looking for you for the last three hours!"
Escaping to the golf club - or worse still, to the pub - is almost a capital offence, except that the ducat for your bullet in the back of the neck can be better spent. "Do you not care about your daughter's wedding?"
You must not ask questions. These are likely to be moronic and, accordingly, not worth answering. Any notion that the question may not have been heard is dispelled by an icy basilisk glare in your direction and by a huddle around the chief protagonist (your little girl), muttering "what's he doing here?"
Never proffer advice. In the fraught circumstances of the time when cries of "omiGod" greet even what you perceive to be trifling problems, such advice could have you certified and locked away, only being released for ceremonial purposes on the wedding day.
Above all other precepts and in God's name I warn this. Never question any item of expenditure, however trivial, costly or extravagant you may consider it to be. Don't even think about it.
It's like bad thoughts in the old days - don't entertain them. It does not matter if you know that you could obtain the item or service mooted at a tithe of the quoted cost. Bite your lip.
The supplier has the ladies in his sights and they are on the charge. The fact that it's your bank balance that is blown away in the heat of battle is irrelevant.
A friend of mine, looking over his shoulder with a haunted look, described the cataclysm that engulfed him when he questioned the price of the bridesmaid's shoes. He compounded this with the remark that the lady in question was far from Cinderella, although he suggested she might be related to her sisters. The final nail was: "Who's going to be looking at her feet anyway?"
Torrents of fury and abuse were unleashed upon him and he was only saved, as he was being swept away, by clinging to his cheque book.
My sister enquired of me as to whether the Highest Authority would be wearing a hat. My immediate unworthy thought was: "Jesus, how much will that cost?" But then, of course, she'll get lots of wear out of it. Won't she?
I jest, of course. Lisa is a beautiful, talented young lady and marrying a wonderful young man. The Highest Authority and I are intensely proud of her, and so happy for her on her great day.
Like all parents we remember her from the beginning and cherish the beautiful memories she gave us. Hopefully there are many more to come.
• Maurice Neligan is a cardiac surgeon