Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me a Match!

I was doing some very deep* thinking the other day after watching The Wedding Planner on cable.

Know that scene where Maria's father reveals that his marriage was actually an arranged marriage? And he said that their respect for each other eventually grew to love?

There is a deep history that exists around arranged marriage.  The custom still exists in certain areas of Asia, Europe, and Africa and in cultures everywhere, including the United States.  (I'm not talking about child brides or forced marriage- though, such things do exist).

All politics and cultural implications aside, I've been thinking about arranged marriage.  More specifically, the WHO in the arranging aspect.

If I hadn't found Mr. Pencils and it was my culture or custom to be a part of an arranged marriage, who would I want to do the matchmaking?

Would I want it to be Mama and Papa Pencils, who knows so much about me?  Who raised me, have seen my cry, have cleaned up my sickness and have guided me towards one huge desire- independence?

Or my best friends from my hometown, who were by my side for my first kiss, my first love, my first failures and many, many giggly Friday nights?

Or my college roommates who taught me the art of a good mixed drink at 3 pm on a Friday and held my hair back when said drink hit...hard.  The ones who challenged me, pushed me, and helped me flourish into the adult I am today?

Or maybe the girls who were my survival during my years of teaching, who ate the baked goods I'd make out of desperation and then dragged me to the gym for a real stress relief?

Or, hell, my brother who knows my faults more than anyone, but gets my sarcasm and humor more than anyone else?

If you had an arranged marriage, who would you want doing the arranging?

*very, very, very deep.

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