Selecting the wedding gown

Third in the 'Father of the Bride' Series

SAN DIEGO—All I could think of as I watched my daughter modeling a proposed wedding gown was the tag line from an old commercial: "This is not your father’s Oldsmobile."

Some brides want to look like a princess royal. Others prefer the look of a cream puff. Still others go for the anti-bellum look, enormous skirts made from miles of silken fabric. Well, not my daughter. No beads or lace for her.

She had this vision of Jean Harlow back in the ‘30's. Tall and willowy, thin and sexy. You know, one of those form fitting gowns that leave little to the imagination. I prefer to think of it as a backless, frontless number with a long veil. I’m not sure how my own father would have reacted to his granddaughter so lightly garbed. Let’s hope the rabbi is on the liberal side.

Now you may ask, what on earth was the father-of-the-bride doing in this situation in the first place?

Well, this is a new modern generation where even father gets a say in such matters or so my daughter informed me as we drove to an Orange County bridal salon. My wife and daughter had done much of the leg work. They had scoured the local scene for the appropriate wedding dress.

Finding none, their next stop was Orange County and a shop called Mon Ami. Let’s be clear, this bridal boutique was certainly not "my friend" in any language

The two women had tried on dozens and dozens of bridal outfits before settling on six. Now they needed reinforcements to help them make the crucial decision. With Aunt Sharon back in Washington, D.C. and her brides maids scattered across the U.S., good old dad was called on to bring Solomon-like decision making onto the scene.

So there I was seated amidst literally hundreds of bridal gowns awaiting my daughter’s fashion show. In the meantime, there were numerous other would be brides and their mothers going through the same act. It was quite a scene to observe.

Some of the brides were exquisite. Others were...works in progress. One young lady, who was as wide as she was tall, was complaining to her sales representative. "I don’t know," she said, "This one makes me look fat."

"Oh my dear," responded the well-trained sales woman, "there are brides who would kill to have your figure. You have a darling shape."

I don’t know how she was able to speak those words without her nose growing two inches longer. I had to turn away to contain my self, model of restraint that I am. What was I doing here? I kept asking myself as my daughter came from the dressing room to do another star turn.

In the end, it isn’t about what you want. It is about what makes your daughter happy, what she feels good in and what the bank account will allow. Well, forget about the bank account when you discuss modern marriages. Her mother thinks this gown is okay and this is the one she loves. The rabbi is young. He can withstand it, I rationalized. The die was cast, so to speak.

Uncle Abe passed out at my wedding many years ago, but they claimed that was from the heat. So we would just have to wait to see how this ceremony goes. My hope was that the groom’s family was not too conservative in their thinking and acceptance. As father-of-the-bride, I had thrown all caution to the wind.