Charter 3 The Reluctant Father of the Bride.

And so, Mia Piccola Principessa di Papa steadily continued to grow and develop. She was always a very pleasing looking girl – to my eye she had always been a true beauty, although in a more ripe Italian manner, not necessarily very fashionable nowadays and especially not so in America of the 80s. But suddenly somewhere around her 17th birthday she blossomed as a true Italian Rose would – suddenly she grew quite a few inches, lost her "puppy fat", her face acquired some interesting angles, her already big eyes grew even bigger…

When most of her peers suffered with bad skin condition, Mia Cara's complexion (although not "cream and strawberries" I admired so much on Doris Day and later my wife) was clear and smooth as a velvet. She was also blessed with my rather dark looks, which she learned to appreciate especially in the summer when, even though she used sun-creams with filters and what-not, she turned a lovely dark chocolate in a manner of days. And she was lucky enough to posses this lovely skin coloring that in the winter months stays a light caramel not the sickly looking olive with a green tint, that most Italian women seem to have.

She had always wore her hair long – but suddenly it increased not only in length but also in volume. It has always been her biggest pride and joy – the long luxurious mane of hair, silky to touch and glossy looking. Somehow though her dark brown hair got some streaks of lighter chestnut that I could only compare to the caramel sauce and some deep burgundy glowing in the sun like the rich, warm full-bodied Barolo wine. Her dark eyelashes grew even longer and shaded her lovely eyes which were paired with the dark eyebrows that added character to her beautiful face. I heard her complaining about them to be too thick and about having have to do some plucking as well as she had to with other "un-needed body hair". Which "un-needed body hair" I never discovered or cared to discover, fearing it would be too much for my poor father's ears. (By the way – why do women insist on all that fight with the natural body hair is above my understanding; especially as from what I have heard it is a not very easy and rather painful process… Oh, well – women and their ways…)

Strangely enough, Lucille, who always complained about our daughter not inheriting her good looks, when faced with this new "improved" and truly stunningly beautiful creature, was not too pleased. If I did not know it is highly unlikely for a mother to be jealous of her daughter, I'd say that's what she really was, but maybe Cara just stepped on her mother's toes with some high and mighty remark she sometimes was prone to.

Whatever the reason – suddenly our house was full of the sounds of angry feminine voices and continuously slammed doors. I must say it got a bit too much for me – Lucille voice was never of a too nice timbre, especially when she was in her whining mode; shouting though pushed it to a really unbearable pitch. I was also surprised to discover that Mia Principessa's (she refused to be called piccola anymore) voice, although lovely when it carried high notes of the arias, was not too pleasing when raised in a quarrel, either…

And so more and more often I took refuge in my garage fiddling with my cars or in the basement in my woodwork workshop. More and more often as well I had to resort to upping the volume on my trusted old vinyl records player while listening to my music. I learned by trial and error that Puccini's and Rossini's work seemed to drawn the screeching noises best, and so listened to their Operas, forsaking my much beloved Verdi and Mozart. I must say here that Mozart is the only composer of not Italian origin whose talent I do admire. I even love his operas which are not originally accompanied by the libretto in Italian. However nowadays whenever I listen to The Enchanted Flute (one of my favorite non-Italian operas) I always have to skip the Queen of the Night Aria as the sound reminds me too much of the dark, dark days that descended on our house at those times…

Alienating myself further and further from my wife's and daughter's everyday life at those times, I have only myself to blame for the outcome and for not acting early enough to ensure my daughter's, Mia Cara's, Mia Principessa's, My Sweet Pea's future happiness. Like many fathers before me, I ended up facing the exact, classic father's nightmare of so many theatrical or movie dramas and operas…

I was not vigilant enough when this… this… this other male slowly but surely managed to sneak in and claim the empty space at My Sweet Pea's side that my absence managed to create. Poor excuse of man! Though I have to admit he does have a good taste in cars. Women too, judging by the fact that it was Mia Cara, My Carolina who caught his eye…

He was a much older man than my Sweet Little Girl – 11 years difference is a lot and even more so when the young one is 18 the other party is 29… For such a young girl in the tender age of being easily impressed and influenced, he must have seemed the epitome of wisdom, maturity and male charm. The fact that he was a Naval Officer and wore his Whites with poise and flourish must have helped his cause, too. As much as my wife, Lucille - who did nothing more than sang his virtues all day long and kept telling our Wonderful, Sweet and Beautiful Daughter how happy she should feel and how grateful she should be for attracting such man's attention…

Listening to her sickening talk one would have to wonder who was my wife's child – him, or Carolina? Sometimes I had a suspicion that most of those praises she sang in David Wilson's honor and the fact that she pushed Carolina into his arms, had their roots in plain, ugly jealousy and envy of the older woman towards the younger, prettier one… But then she was, IS, her mother… Surely my notions were mistaken?.. It must be just that the fact of my own inability to deal with the situation was making me questioning my wife's motives…

Anyway – I was not able to deal with the situation at all. The situation of which I simply learned too late… And all due to my stupid selfishness and longing for some peace and quiet…

...I'm sure all the girls from school were duly impressed, jealous and green with envy… But was this the reason to get married at 19, I ask you? Surely not! Surely My Cara, My Carolina, Mia Bambina, My Piccola… well, no, not Piccola anymore, nor Little - My Princess, who always was such a sweet, level-headed girl should have seen that and understood the lack of my enthusiasm…

She should, no she WOULD listen to her Papa and take into account the advise he's dishing… Or so I was deceiving myself into hoping... But no, My Sweet Pea, Mia Bambina, Mia Tesoro was set to get wed at such young age and to the man 11 year her senior. And so uncharacteristically for her – she seemed to be as stubborn as a mule on this subject! What had happened? How had it happened? When had My Sweet Girl changed into this stubborn, unyielding woman? I was at a loss both for the answers to those questions and more importantly for the bigger questions yet: "Will she be happy in that marriage?", "Does he really truly love her?" (he seemed to be as found and as proud of her as he was of his bloody little, fast European car…). "Will he, does he recognize what prize he has won?", "Will he be capable of allowing her to grow and develop into the woman she has a potential to become?" Or: "Will he just stifle her like a candle that somehow managed to burn too fast?"

All those questions kept wheeling in my mind, not allowing me any restful sleep at night. My heart was heavy with some bad premonition…Meanwhile my wife was busy choosing the color scheme for the wedding, the dress, the venue, the…. Oh, listening to her planning Mia Bambina's wedding, my heart grew heavier and heavier and the guilt on not helping and protecting Mia Piccola (yes – she still was my little girl – and she always will be – nothing is going to change that!) Principessa from the dangers of life and the dragons that awaited at every corner or so it seemed… The only ray of light that I had at that time was the thought that now My Tesoro would be able to learn the other great Love – the Love a Parent can feel for his/her child…

So I had no choice – one day in the Summer of 1990 I found myself a very much reluctant, but nevertheless – the FATHER OF THE BRIDE…