Life tends to deliver milestones in clusters, never spreading them out at a leisurely pace, but stacking them up all at once. This week is no exception. On Saturday, my daughter is getting married—a once-in-a-lifetime event. Then, two days later, I board a plane to spend the next eight weeks working overseas. It’s not ideal timing, but that’s the nature of my life. In the coming months, I’ll host six trips across Europe—Spain, Tuscany (twice), a Tuscany trip I call Tuscany 2.0 where I host guests who have already travelled with me in Tuscany but with all new adventures, Holland/Belgium, and England/Scotland. Some of these trips I’ve done before, some are newer variations, but I love what I do, no matter how many times I do it. And while those familiar streets, piazzas, and villages bring me joy, my mind isn’t on travel at the moment. It’s on something far bigger.
The most common question I get these days is about the wedding. The second most common? “How did you lose all that weight?” Let’s go ahead and clear that one up. No, I’m not sick. No, I didn’t do it just for wedding pictures. It’s been a multi-year journey. Three years ago, I was tipping the scales at 285 pounds. That’s on a 5’10” frame—there’s nothing healthy about that. I was 60 years old and still eating like a college freshman. I was shopping in the big-and-tall section and they knew as soon as I walked into the store that I wasn’t tall. Something had to change. I tried one of those packaged food diets (the food was terrible), took one of those shots for a while, and worked overseas for months at a time—where I inevitably lost weight just by living differently. The Mediterranean lifestyle, the daily walks, the fresh, unprocessed food—it’s not magic; it’s just a better way to eat and move. Then I took a different shot for a while. Some say the weight-loss shots are “cheating.” I say it’s not a competition—it’s my life. If losing the weight means I get to see my grandkids graduate one day, then I’ll take whatever edge I can get.
Some might say this is a long-winded diversion from what’s really on my mind, and they wouldn’t be wrong. The truth is, my daughter is getting married, and I’m doing everything I can to keep myself from falling apart. She’s 27 years old, in love, and ready. She and her fiancé, actually dated in eighth grade, but that was the same year we packed up for a six-month trip across Europe. There was a tearful breakup on the front porch before we left, two boyfriends in between, and then—a decade later—Robert was welcomed back into the picture. Her mom and I couldn’t have been happier. He’s everything a father could hope for in the man who will stand beside his daughter. He loves her, protects her, and respects her. And, maybe most importantly, he makes her laugh. He’s the kind of man who will be a great husband and an even better father. He checks all the boxes.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past year, it’s that planning a wedding is an entirely different beast. My wife has been in full planning mode since the day after the engagement, and our friend Justin has been right there beside her every step of the way. I’ve learned that when it comes to wedding prep, there are two kinds of people: the doers and the check-writers. I landed firmly in the second category. But while I’ve done very little besides paying for it all, I have watched in amazement as they have poured every ounce of energy into making sure this day is nothing short of perfect.
And then there’s my restaurant family—our team of 450 talented, hardworking people who make the impossible happen daily. Many of them are stepping up to handle the culinary aspects, bar, and floral elements of the wedding, and I couldn’t be more grateful. And the timing? Not exactly ideal. We just wrapped up Mardi Gras season, which meant hosting several large-scale events, cranking out thousands of king cakes, and keeping up with the sheer chaos that comes with the season. They didn’t miss a beat then, and they won’t miss a beat now. I know how lucky I am to have a team that works this hard and cares this much.
Weddings are about love, but they’re also about effort—about the people who show up, who put in the work behind the scenes, who sweat the small stuff so that when the day arrives, the only thing left to do is celebrate. I may have written the checks, but they are the ones making this day happen. And for that, I am deeply grateful.
My experience with weddings is mostly from the catering side. My experience with being the father of the bride—well, I’m a rookie. This is my first, and last. No do-overs. No practice runs. And I’m not handling it particularly well. I can be driving down the road, a song comes on the radio, and suddenly, I’m blubbering for four blocks.
And so, the time comes for a father to do the hardest thing he’ll ever have to do—stand back and let go. Not in sorrow, but in awe. Because what a privilege it has been to love her, to watch her grow into the woman she was always meant to be. She was once a little girl who fit perfectly in my arms, her tiny head resting on my shoulder, trusting me to hold her steady. And now, she stands beside the man who will hold her steady from here. My role shifts, my place changes, but one thing never will—she will always be my daughter, my greatest joy, my proudest moment. And no matter how far she goes, no matter what life brings, she will always have a place to rest her head.
Is it too soon to say that I am ready for some grandbabies?
Some weeks in life feel heavier than others. This is one of those weeks. But what a beautiful weight to carry.
Onward.
