Father of the Groom Rehearsal Dinner Speech: Welcoming Both Families

Good evening, everyone. I’m Manny, Paolo’s dad. On behalf of Marites and myself, welcome to our family’s rehearsal dinner. Thank you all for being here and for traveling so far—especially the Schultzes, who made it all the way from Minnesota. Ruth, we’re honored you flew in at 88. And to the wedding party: you survived the rehearsal, so you’ve already proven you can follow instructions at least once.

Tonight is extra special because it’s the first time our two families, the Reyeses and the Schultzes, get to sit down at one table. It feels right. I know Paolo and Hannah have been looking forward to this, and so have we.

I want to start off with a story about Paolo as a kid. He was always the neighborhood organizer down in Chula Vista. When he was nine, he ran a ‘restaurant’ out of our garage, selling his Lola Nena’s famous lumpia for a quarter each. I only found out later that he’d recruited a whole wait staff—the neighbor kids—by paying them in lumpia. If you wondered where he got his ideas for Sunday dinners, now you know.

I remember the first time Paolo brought Hannah home. It was Christmas Eve, Noche Buena, five years ago. If you’ve never been to a Filipino Christmas, imagine forty relatives squeezed into one house, everyone talking at once, and nobody using their inside voices. Hannah could have hidden in the kitchen, but instead she sat right down next to my mom, Lola Nena, and asked her to teach her pusoy dos—the family card game. By midnight, Hannah was winning, which none of us expected. My wife, Marites, leaned over and whispered, “That one’s staying.” She was right.

There’s another memory I cherish about Paolo. When he was 15, our old Corolla broke down outside Santa Barbara. We spent two days in a motel, living off vending machine snacks and old Western movies. It was there Paolo told me he wanted to be a nurse. Now he’s an ER nurse in San Diego, and when he passed his nursing exam, I was the first call he made. That’s the kind of heart he has.

As a couple, Hannah and Paolo balance each other. Hannah plans everything. Paolo runs late to everything. Together, they usually arrive about ten minutes late, which—believe me—is Paolo’s best record yet. Every Sunday, they open their tiny apartment to anyone who needs a meal. They’ve figured out that a full table brings people together, and keeps them together.

I want to take a moment to remember my mother, Lola Nena, who passed away last year. She loved Hannah from that very first Christmas Eve, and I know she’d be so happy for both of you tonight.

So here’s my advice after 34 years of marriage: keep feeding people, because a full table fixes almost everything. And Paolo, try leaving ten minutes earlier. Just for Hannah.

(Raise your glass) To Hannah and Paolo—may your table always be full, your hearts always open, and your arrival times...close enough. Cheers!

Good evening, everyone. I’m Neil, Owen’s dad. On behalf of Carol and myself, welcome, and thank you all for being here tonight. A special welcome to Anil, Meera, and Rohan Sharma—Priya’s family. We’re so happy to have you here, and even happier to be joining our families together tomorrow.

Carol put a lot of love and planning into this dinner, and I want to thank her for that. Thanks also to everyone who made the trip from Toronto, Ottawa, and further. It means a lot to Owen and Priya to have you here with them.

Owen was always a quiet kid. Careful, thoughtful. He’d rather build something than talk your ear off about it. Every summer, he’d make a birdhouse in my woodshop, and he’d give it away—usually to a neighbour who needed a little cheering up. That’s just who he is.

One of my best memories is when Owen was twelve. We spent a summer building a cedar canoe in the shop. On its first trip, it leaked like a sieve. Owen didn’t complain or give up; he just spent two more weekends fixing it. That canoe is still at the cottage, and I think about that every time I see it. The day he left for university, he left a birdhouse on our porch with a note: “For when you miss me.” And we did.

The first time I met Priya, Owen brought her to our cottage. She got up before dawn to go fishing with me—didn’t catch a thing, but she laughed the whole way back. That’s when I knew she belonged with us.

Owen and Priya balance each other perfectly. Priya talks enough for both, and Owen’s the calm one, and they really listen to each other. I admire that, and I hope they hold on to it.

If I have any advice, it’s this: build it slowly and fix what leaks. That’s what Carol and I have learned in thirty-eight years together.

(Raise your glass) To Owen and Priya—may your life together be strong and full of laughter. Cheers.