Past and present collide

My daughter Elizabeth’s coming wedding is a time machine.

It’s a collision of past and present with a peek into the future.

That was evident earlier this month at an engagement party in Connecticut that included the bridal party and the groomsmen.

There are eight in Elizabeth’s bridal party: One cousin, three college friends, and four high school friends.

It’s the four high school friends -- Jen, Cait, Stef, and Steph (all pictured here at Stef’s recent wedding) -- who are sending me on my time machine journeys.

Steph, Stef and Cait came to the engagement party and it was difficult to separate these young women from the little girls I knew in Beverly, Mass.

They’ve aged and grown up into engaging young women. Meanwhile, I’ve remained age neutral … or so I try to tell myself.

In a way, I refuse to accept the notion that all those intervening years for Elizabeth and her friends has meant added years on my time card.

So I’m stuck in this time warp: I’m a 30 or 40 year old man with a 28 year old daughter who’s getting married.

The time warp wasn’t helped, by the way, when my stepdaughter Kelsey gave birth to a daughter, Rylin, the day after Christmas.

Kelsey’s mom (my wife) Jane seems confused by it all too. I think she regards herself more as Rylin’s aunt, instead of Rylin’s grandmother.

I say that because she commonly calls me “Uncle Paul” when she’s cooing to Rylin. Not that I want to be known as “Grandpa Paul”, but you get my drift.

These girls/women who will aid and abet Elizabeth in her journey to get married are the little girls at Centerville Elementary, or Elizabeth’s teammates on the high school gymnastics team, or teammates on the high school lacrosse team.

The prom buddies have become half the bridemaids.

I see my daughter Elizabeth and my son David in a kaleidoscope of images -- all at once they are newborns or learning to drive, they are at piano lessons or graduating from college, they are playing on the backyard swingset or getting ready to get married.

Of course there’s nothing I can do to slow it all down. Sixty seconds is a minute, 60 minutes is an hour, 24 hours is a day.

My sideview mirror says objects may appear closer than they are.

My mirror on this time machine says people may appear younger than they are.