A Prairie Home Companion from American Public Media: First Person

The Marrying Kind
By Tammy Rider
August 14, 2008

The first man I ever married was quite short. Of course, he was five years old. We had the traditional wedding, except that I was not only the bride, but the minister as well. I was quite accomplished in this area, having baptized all of my dolls, as well as filling in as both organist and preacher during the services I created for my grandparents, who patiently sat (and slept) through them each Sunday afternoon.

The marriage didn't last long though, since Scott (the man I married) moved away sometime during my kindergarten year. I continued supplying my grandparents with worship services each Sabbath, while also preparing for careers as trapeze artist, Olympic skier, and astronaut. By third grade, I settled on a career — as the first female Major League baseball player.

I never made it to the Minors. Actually, I didn't even make the high school softball team. And so I became a Presbyterian minister. I got to baptize real babies, and officiate at many major life events. Including marriages. The first marriage I presided over was for an old family friend. She was marrying for the second time, as was the groom. They said their vows on their house's front lawn on a beautiful summer afternoon.

Over the years, I married many more men?..and their brides. Most weddings went off quite well, except for the one where the flower girl got stuck in the elevator. But I grew quite accustomed to the responsibilities faced by the typical clergyperson. I never got married myself.

I lost track of most of the happy couples over the years, so I don't know how happy they remained. But occasionally I'd run in to someone, like the time I was shopping for dollhouse miniatures with my mom (who has asked to be addressed as "the Reverend Mother" ever since I was ordained). Also shopping there was a man who looked quite familiar—as my mom managed to mention to the man himself. They spent some time looking for various Twin Cities connections. Finally it dawned on her — "Oh yes, now I know you," she exclaimed before a shop full of people. "You're the man my daughter married!" Realizing how this sounded, she tried to clarify, "I mean, you're one of the men my daughter has married — there have been so many!"

I wonder if someone might have an opening for a trapeze artist.

About the author:
I'm a Presbyterian minister currently living in Rochester. I'm also the eldest of fifty-nine children — ask my mother about that.