I stood in the dressing room of JC Penney’s staring at my reflection. It was a nice dress; dark blue with an asymmetrical pattern of green flowers that started on the bottom right hem and spread across the middle, up toward the left hip. I hadn’t purchased an item of clothing at full retail price – ever. Yet there I stood, in a dress that was priced at a little over what I earn in a day, seriously considering making it mine. My 9-year-old daughter stood on the dressing room bench looking at me thoughtfully. I couldn’t tell if she thought I looked acceptable, or if she was trying to think of a kind way to express her concern for my lack of fashion sense.

I pondered for a moment if it was the right thing to do – matching the wedding colors with my outfit. I wanted my outfit to be perfect, but I didn’t want it to stand out.

My youngest daughter was busy spinning in circles, a task she undertook often to see how long she could remain upright without losing her balance. I stopped judging my appearance to satisfy my motherly duty of advising her to be careful, then went back to the negotiation with my own personal Gollum.

I should buy the dress.

But it was the most expensive thing I had worn since my wedding day and even that dress was on clearance.

I could wear it to work and to interviews.

But it wasn’t on sale…

It’s for the most important day of the year.

The big day arrived and I awoke with a ‘to-do’ list longer than I normally have on a typical Saturday. I had to get two little girls into their dresses, style their hair, my hair, apply my make up, get into my dress and still manage to be on time to the most important event of the year.

We arrived at Minnetrista, and rushed back to the staging room. Frank and Eric were in their tuxes, along with the rest of the wedding party, emotionally trying to settle their nerves. My girls ran up, excited to see them and show off their new dresses. I made eye contact with Frank and smiled reassuringly. I had never played such a big role in a wedding; my girls were the flower girls, and I was honored with the hetero-normative role of “father of the bride.”

I looked over at Eric and could see that he had spent most of the morning hovering between laughter and tears. Anytime he looked at Frank, he would get teary eyed. I felt this overwhelming sense of love and amazement as I realized I was standing in a room with so many wonderful people who just a few months prior wouldn’t have been able to gather for this sacred purpose.

We lined up in the corridor, two by two. My daughters led the procession to the rose garden, followed by groomsmen and a grooms-woman to surround Eric by the gazebo as he waited for his soon-to-be husband to walk down the aisle.

I stood, arm in arm with Frank waiting for the music to change and walk with him to Eric. We joked a little about walking in step with each other and how nervous we were for everyone to look at us. Then the harpist started to sing and I felt tears stream down my cheeks as I began to feel the weight of the moment. I was walking one of my best friends to be joined in holy matrimony to the love of his life.

As we turned the corner to walk down the aisle, Eric’s face lit up the moment he saw Frank. In that moment, it didn’t matter if my dress was perfect, or if Frank’s tie was perfect, or if anything else was perfect – that moment was perfect.