A Writer Reflects on His Wedding Day, with a Little Help from His Kids

My wife, Chelsee, and I got married in 2007 at the Rose Garden of Descanso Gardens in La Cañada Flintridge. It was a sweltering September weekend in which we handed out paper fans to our guests and blotting papers to the bridal party. 

Cut to 2023. Not only is Descanso Gardens a popular wedding venue, every winter it hosts a nighttime event called the Enchanted Forest of Light. The winding paths and magnificent trees are decorated with lighted installations of all colors, some interactive, transforming the serene garden into something luminous—and frenetic. It seemed like something our daughters, ages 3 and 10, would enjoy. Plus it’d be our first trip back to where we tied the knot.

Chelsee and I were looking forward to it. Our wedding day had become a distant memory. In the nearly two decades that followed, our life had been filled with career changes, exciting world travels, new friends, a rescue dog we named Benny, two marathons, three relocations (from the Westside to Mid City to Studio City) and just the right number of marriage counselors. 

Our wedding had faded into hazy nostalgia, and we assumed that seeing the Rose Garden with our kids would jolt the dusty memory into clarity. Why wouldn’t it? One of the greatest phenomena of parenthood is to see the world anew through the eyes of your kids. Even the most mundane things become exciting and charming. Have you ever seen a garbage truck through the eyes of your child? It’s no longer a rancid hunk of hydraulics but instead a mechanical wonder of curiosity. If they could work their magic on that stinking vehicle, they could certainly do the same with our wedding venue. 

Boy, were we wrong.

As we entered the grounds, the girls’ sense of wonder was consumed by the glimmering lights. We tried to keep them focused and escorted them to the Rose Garden. “This is where Daddy saw Mommy in her wedding dress.” “We exchanged vows under this arch.” “Here’s where Yeh Yeh gave a sweet but L-O-N-G  speech.”

We should’ve known. How could our memories compete with floor tiles that light up when you stomp on them? Our oldest is at an age where she thinks romance is “barf.” She was not interested in where we “smoochy kissed” for the first time as a married couple. Suddenly, our youngest rallied the family with her battle cry: “Back to the stomp-y floor!”

Not exactly what we envisioned. But later, when our kids had gone to sleep, the experience was enough to inspire us to get out our wedding album. The forgotten details filled in, like our signature cocktail we called “The Hakolowe” (a portmanteau of our last names), and the truth became clear. We didn’t need to see it anew. We just needed to see it for what it was: a single night in the past, surrounded by our loved ones, ushering in a future full of adventure and wonder that would exceed even our wildest expectations.

Richard Lowe lives in Studio City with his family. He no longer considers his wedding album overpriced.