We're back from a camping trip to Florida. Our last day we walked out on the state park pier and saw a bride in her wedding dress being photographed on the sand as the sun was setting on the Gulf waters. My son started jumping up and down, shrieking, "Come quick! You're missing it--you're missing it!" In a panicked voice, he started running to us as we leisurely strolled and watched the poses. His voice high and shrill, head dropping with frustration at our unresponsiveness, he insisted, "You're missing it!!"

"We can see it!" I said. "We can see the whole thing."

He sighed heavily and plopped onto the worn wood, legs dangling, staring. We strolled along toward him, and he joined us as we made our way to the end and stood next to the fishermen, staring off at the horizon in the fading light.

On our way back to the car, moseying along the pier, we said, "That was really nice."

"Ya, except we missed the whole marriage."

He thought they were getting married at that instant on the beach and we were squandering the opportunity to witness it. "I've never been to a marriage before," he said wistfully. She did look beautiful lounging on the sand in her shiny white dress, hair in an up-do, princess-like. I would have liked a beach wedding. I actually voiced that thought, and my eldest--a knowing tweener--made a face and said, "Yes, but you're already married. You don't need a wedding, so..." she trailed off. I grinned, and my husband said, "If I knew what I know about you now and the intensity of your love of the ocean, I'd probably have flown someplace with you and let you have that beach wedding." Ah, well...it's too late now. Fifteen years too late.