... was unexpected by most.
But why so? Amy and I have been
together for more than 10 years, are very much in love, and hopelessly
committed to one another – that our
friends and family should be in any way surprised might seem odd. However, those close to us (or me, more
specifically) will probably have endured a diatribe or two on the state and
religion, and in the institution of marriage we find the toxic entanglement of
these two pernicious poisons. Yes
comrades, I’m an anarchist, and in the popular imagination anarchists are far too
busy smashing Starbucks windows to even consider getting hitched. In fact, they’re probably pointing out the
historic role of marriage in the sexual division of labour (for the benefit of
capital), the indoctrinating role of the family unit (for the benefit of state
and church), and the subjugation of half of the world’s population (for the
benefit of the bepenised half). And I
wholly concur! The institution of
marriage, like all institutions, is deeply flawed. So how was it that I ended up on top of a
windswept hill on bended knee with a sparkly rock (/small stone)?
(Previously ignorant readers might now understand the
surprise of our friends and family. And
our friends and family are probably rolling their eyes at yet another Jim-rant. Don’t worry, it lightens up – keep reading
folks!)
The institution of marriage is horrid. Fine.
But it would not have been tolerated for so many hundreds of years if it
were not based upon some worthy kernel.
I’ve been lucky enough to have some special people show me the real
value of companionship, deep mutual understanding, love, and how an expression
of commitment bolsters all of that.
(Also, a wedding is a great excuse for a massive fucking party.) This is the nail on which the institution of
marriage hangs all its oppressive baggage.
The trick, as far as I see it, is to liberate the positive attributes of
marriage from all the nonsenses that cling to, and eventually choke it. For helping reveal this to me I thank Emma
Goldman, Paul and Jen Michael, and (though she may be surprised to read it) my
mum. Amy has already explained a lot of
the details of our wedding planning, and how we’re disposing with the negative
aspects of tradition while preserving the most meaningful (and FUN) parts. For me, put simply, our wedding day is an
incredibly personal expression of love and commitment that we want to share
with our friends and family – and I’ll be damned if I allow the state or church
ANY interference in that.
(If you’ve stuck it out this long, well done. You can have the gossipy goodness of the
actual proposal now. Hurrah!)
I decided to ask Amy to marry me after I had emigrated
across the Irish Sea. I missed her
madly, and (after a month or two) she had shown massive commitment by moving to
England to be with me. 2012 was a leap
year, so I thought I might détourne convention and propose on the 29th
of February (traditionally when women are ‘allowed’ to propose to men) – but
the tedious obstructions of work schedules forced me into shifting to the 28th. Despite having to do some creative
ducking-and-diving (which Amy will fill you in on), everything was set-up - ring
in hand, restaurant booked, and father-in-law duly noted. That’s an ostensibly tradition-laden
approach, which I probably ought to defend.
- The ring. I like the symbolism of the ring – an unbroken
band to be worn ‘til death (apart from when kneading dough), though the
price-tag was a tough compromise to swallow.
Ouch. I had picked out the ring
at a place called Robinson’s, because Amy’s surname was above the door,
obviously. I’m not much of a jewellery
aficionado, but I had an idea of the styles that Amy might like, and in the end
there was only one ring that really caught my eye – seems to have done the job!
- The
restaurant. Any excuse for a good
feed really.
- And the
call to the father-in-law? It may
stink of a vestige from the bad old days of wife-as-property, but I intended
it as a mark of respect to Amy’s parents.
Fuck-the-law – yes; piss-off-the-in-laws – no. Seriously though, having Neil’s support meant
a lot and actually telling someone about my proposal plan made the whole thing
seem suddenly very real.
All I had to do was get Amy to a suitably lovely spot, on
some false pretence, and go for it. My
two thoughts for question-popping places were: Bradgate Park, a very nice place
indeed with some very ancient trees and free-roaming deer; or the top of a quite
high slide in a nearby play park. The
logistical difficulties of persuading Amy to the top of a slide made the choice
easy.... It was a greyish, cold day, and
it took some exuberance to persuade Amy to drive us out there. We marched up the hill with our cargo of
flapjacks, juice, and a concealed diamond ring.
I was quite giddy with nerves, and still not exactly sure how I might
ask the question. Fortunately for me,
Amy unearthed some aptly soppy texts I had sent her over the previous few
months and read them out to me – probably to check I still meant it! My gushy proclamations of love set the mood perfectly. Once we were ensconced on the memorial at the
highest point of Bradgate Park, I took my chance. I readied the ring in my pocket, and stepped
back to take a photograph, then whipped out the box, opened it, and said
something to the effect of, ‘Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’ (Cleverer readers will have deduced this already,
but...) SHE SAID YES!
Organising the wedding day has been really fun, but the part
I’m really looking forward to is spending the rest of my life with the person I
love most.
