A Father-of-the-Bride Toast Stirs Memories

As John Ficarra prepares to give the father-of-the-bride toast, he recalls his daughter’s first parent-teacher conference. He continues to “kvell” over his little girl, and his story can stir memories for other parents, too.

The parent-teacher conference for my daughter’s kindergarten class exceeded my wildest expectations.

The teacher, Mrs. Pincar, said M.E. was attentive, respectful and participated in class. But it’s what she told me towards the end of the conference that sent me home kvelling.

A few weeks prior, after writing something on the blackboard, Mrs. Pincar turned to see M.E.’s little hand raised high. Normally, she said, when a student raised their hand in such a situation, it was either to ask permission to use the bathroom or announce they had gotten a new toy. But not this time.

It seems Mrs. Pincar had just written “mom” on the blackboard, and M.E. was raising her hand to tell her teacher that the word mom was a palindrome. (A word that reads the same backward or forward.) I was delighted but not surprised.

As a humor writer and lover of words, when I became a father, I made the conscious decision to expose my daughter to as many fun, silly or odd words and phrases as possible, to treat them much the same as toys – things that are to be played with for our amusement.

By age five, M.E. didn’t ask for a drink, she asked for a “libation.” She wasn’t hungry, she was “feeling peckish.” A toy wasn’t broken, there was “a malfunction in the apparatus.”

In our conversations, puns, made-up words, malapropisms and absurd alliterations became the norm. When reading books, especially ones that we had read dozens of times and we both knew by heart, I would use the occasion to slip in an oddball phrase or two for the actual words on the page, just to keep it interesting for both of us. Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein, two masters of wordplay, were our heroes.  Often, we had to put down one of their books just to laugh or to get a glass of water to quell a case of the hiccups.

Today, M.E. works as a writer for a well-known speech writing firm. Her essays have appeared in major national publications and her speeches have garnered millions of hits across the social network platforms.

Because of client confidentiality, she cannot reveal the names of any individuals or corporations she works for or allow me to read anything she has written for them. But last time we were together, she did let me sneak me a peek at a nifty word-play she had worked into a major speech she had recently finished. Just like at that parents-teacher conference 25 years ago, I kvelled.

I’ve been thinking about this and more lately, a bit melancholy, a bit misty, as I work on the father-of-the-bride toast I will soon be called upon to deliver.

Did the grammatical shenanigans of Seuss, Silverstein and others that I subjected my daughter to contribute to the success she enjoys today? I like to think so, but there’s no way of knowing for sure. Some people are just born natural writers and I believe that is the case with M.E.

Regardless if it did or not, I do know that all through her growing up years, playing with words provided us with a ridiculous amount of fun and laughter, the memories of which are among the most treasured I hold as a father. And it is these same memories that fill me with anticipation for the special moments that await should I one day be blessed and become a grandfather and once again begin the journey helping a child appreciate the magic of language and clever writing and its ability to bring joy to a reader’s face.

From a father-of-the-bride toast to childhood lessons, read more memories and other contributions from Boomer readers in our From the Reader department.

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