(Continued)

Now, personally, I wasn’t a particular believer, being the progeny of my dearly departed Jewish Daddy and my very present Catholic Mom. The only thing I’d gained from that interfaith union was a double dose of guilt. However, I respected the hell out of the Rev. Botay’s message and mission. As the Holy Rollers sang out their souls, tears came to my eyes.

But they weren’t because of the words; they were because of the organ. The damn thing was way out of tune. In fact, it was downright blood-curdling.

The Rollers were rolling their eyes at each other. I decided to roll with the punches. After all, every wedding has something go wrong. It would all be a fond memory in our collective future.

As the Rollers launched into another spiritual, Chuck and Enrique came gliding down the aisle, hand in hand. Dark-eyed, dark-haired, clean-shaven Enrique was his usual slick and dapper self in his Armani tux. No surprise there. But Chuck … well, any description would only be a gross injustice, and as I said, this whole celebration was about justice. So suffice it to say he was in an identical tux, all 250 redneck pounds of him. His graying goatee lent him a distinguished air, and his bald pate gleamed with what I chose to believe was pure delight, not nervous perspiration.

As the happy couple reached the altar, the Rollers, with perfect timing, ended with glorious harmony: “Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty we are free at last.”