bobby & tawnee


Just before I snuck away from the reception Saturday night, Bobby Walker got me again.

He pulled his wife onto the stage and sang to her. I wish I could remember the song — something rich and old-timey, something with lyrics someone really thought about.

He got choked up half way into the second verse.

And that was the end of it.

When he finished, I quickly said goodbye to my friends — the ones who had gathered from all ends of the earth to celebrate with Tawnee, to remind her that they love her and need her and learn from her daily — and then I got in my car. And I sobbed. For the second time that day. The first time was when Bob and Tawnee knelt at an alter and, with me as a witness, vowed to be there for each other forever.

You see, when you get old and graduate and move on and away, you worry about your friends.

You worry that you’re too out of touch to know if something in their lives isn’t right, too removed to see when things are off, too detached to feel the warning signs of this or that, too helpless to help them. You worry all the time. About everything.

So when you watch a boy on a stage get all choked up when he sings a love song to one of those friends, relief floods over you.

Because you know he’ll take care of her.

So you don’t have to worry so much.

Listening to: Beyonce, “Fever” (Our roommate performance of this at the reception was a little rough, but, well … anything for Tawnee. We may have forgotten the words, but it was sultry just the same.)


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