I was one of the chosen few that received the private Facebook message.
He was touring Europe with his soon-to-be wife. I was in Tonga, on a break.. from my life.
A conversation before I left revealed that I’d be the best man if the day ever came. Upon finding out that he was going to propose, I didn’t even wait until the next day to start writing my speech.
I had plenty of puns, a printed sheet, perfectly sized text, and emoticons as a que for my delivery; he still held a pen in the few hours before leaving for the church. In his own words: “I hate giving speeches.”
You don’t need my words. I salivate over the smallest crumb of attention, just like when I placed my order at the reception.
The role of best man carries certain expectations – I believe I delivered…
But most memorably, I witnessed how sincerity trumps comedy. How ‘well played’ succumbs to ‘well said’. And when it comes from the heart, ‘just said’ is all that’s needed.
He thanked his parents for being a quintessential couple. Showing him, throughout his life, how ‘marriage’ should look once the limo get its final look, and the gown’s on the hook.
He called it the chance to “marry his best friend.”
I was the best man, but he said the best things.
