During the past month, 20-month-old grandson Sir (Sean Robert Irwin, but the last initial goes in the middle for monograms) has become an experienced wedding ring bearer, having performed in son Adam and Cynthia’s wedding, then two weeks later in nephew Will and Leslie’s nuptial ceremonies.

In Adam and Cynthia’s wedding, he had a straight aisle to walk down, with Aunt Christie at the back to start him, and Aunt Leslie at the front to take charge of him after he arrived, which he eventually did, after stopping to talk to some of the guests.

In Will and Leslie’s wedding, though, there were complications.

To start with, he apparently ate something for lunch that disagreed with his little tummy, because the parents were within sight of the wedding Pavillion when he barfed all down the front of his white wedding suit, right there on the back seat of the car.

There followed several other examples of what a physician might term “projectile vomiting,” which removed any doubt that his white suit was not going to be wedding-wearable, even if his health recovered enough for him to bear the rings.

His father???s suit was somewhat the worse for wear, as well. A hasty trip back to town for a predictably high-dollar Ringbearer Suit was in the cards.

So, when Sir’s Grunk arrived (short for “Grandfather Uncle Bob”) upon the scene, the short blonde kid was attired in a diaper, socks, and white shoes, but obviously over the effects of his stomach disorder.

When the Grunk appeared, Sir hit the door and ran onto the porch to be properly grandfathered.  He pointed down the steps to the decorated outdoor pavillion, which was surrounded by a moat of sorts, and queried, “Wibbet?”  That’s what a frog says, you know?

So, The Grunk took Sir’s hand and went to look for Wibbets. There were four sets of four steps, with short landings in between, to get to the pavillion.

Yet these were not normal-sized steps – more the height of concrete blocks (which they were). It was fortunate that Sir had a finger to hang onto when he took the first step, which was half-a-step longer than he was used to. At the second step, he took matters into his own hands: gripping the Grunk finger tightly, he jumped!

That took me a little by surprise, but it solved Sir’s short-leg-long-step problem admirably. When he jumped on the third step, I was ready. By the time we hit the second landing, I was a convert: we stood at the edge and jumped together!

By the last set of steps, Sir was jumping UP, to maximize his hang-time, and if he’d been older, I’d have had him shouting, “Geronimo!” as he leapt.  

The boy was totally recovered from his ailment, and I even thought that his Grunk should have been had up for meritorious service for my part in the healing!

It was good for me to later recall that I had been proud before the Happy Occasion. When we soon returned from our Wibbet search, Sir was whisked away by his Mom to be re-suited for his primary job of ring bearing.

The groom, groomsmen and preacher all took their places, the flautist began flauting, and the bridesmaids began their marches. Finally, everyone was in place and looking up the flights of steps, awaiting the beautiful bride, who was to be preceded by the Ringbearer, of course.  

Resplendent in his new white bibbed suit, clutching his Mom’s hand, Sir advanced to the top step.

And launched himself into space, crying the 20-month-old equivalent of “Geronimo!”  Aunt Catherine just happened to take a picture of that moment, and in it Sir is suspended several inches above the concrete, his wind-borne bib covering his face, his mother hanging on for dear life.

Every step was the same procedure. By the time the Ringbearer finally reached Ground Zero for the wedding, the entire assemblage was alive with laughter and good will, and at the top of the steps, the Bride’s Father was in tears.

Having married off three kids myownself, I remember that there is usually a certain amount of tension that is involved with the critical stage of a wedding. At Will and Leslie’s ceremony, the ring bearer tee-totally relaxed any jitters!

But who got blamed for innocently teaching Sir to jump? The Grunk!