A Chinese wedding and reflections on old age

I went to a Chinese wedding on Sunday, which was definitely something that one might term a 'cultural experience'. I was invited along by the friend whom I'm staying with in Qufu; the bride and groom were friends of hers, and what's one more foreigner when there are already a couple going, right? Another teacher, came along as well.

We arrived at the church at about 8:15, just in time for about two more hours of the service. I didn't mind that, actually. It was pretty cool to see and experience a service in China, despite not being able to understand it. My friend was kind enough to translate bits and pieces for us, so I caught the general idea. At about 10:15 the service broke up and began to morph into a wedding ceremony, which apparently is pretty typical. And so the fun began.

I counted about four occasions when a typical American bride would have just called the thing off right there. Since the three of us were treated as special guests, we were put in front where we could watch the chaos unfold. The bride and groom came down the aisle and proceeded to stand awkwardly to the side of the stage until some room was made for them to sit down on a bench. The pastor took about 30 minutes to preach a sermon on marriage, during which the groom's cell phone went off. He, of course, went outside to take the call. He, of course, was still outside when he and his bride were called up on stage. He, of course, had to be brought back inside by someone who ran out to fetch him. That was occasion #1.

Occasion #2 happened a little bit later and was also cell phone related; specifically, the cell phone rang again. While the couple was on stage. Getting married. Occasion #3 was when he tried to pick up said call and accidentally dropped/threw his phone halfway across the stage. Don't worry, though - a friend finished the call for him. If I was the bride, I might've been angry on occasion #4 - my newly married husband hurrying off the stage at the ceremony's conclusion to talk to the friend who picked up the call to see what it was all about (and get the cell phone back), but I am not a Chinese bride, and she didn't seem bothered in the least. These things are what we call cultural differences, and they are also the explanation for the four little boys who were allowed to run around at the front of the stage, try to jump on the stage, and point rubber bands at the bride during the entirety of the ceremony. Chinese children don't wear diapers, and the slits in the little boy's pants that resulted in them exposing themselves to everyone gathered is another example of a cultural difference. It was an eye opening (and then immediately closing) sort of experience.

At the end of the ceremony, after the happy couple walked down the aisle and out of the church (not side by side, but with the groom about four feet in front...the general attitude was apparently that they didn't want anyone to think they liked each other), a student behind us asked Lisa if I was her father. Lisa is a couple years older than I am. Yes, I have a beard. No, I am not 50.

The following is an explanation for my recent Facebook status, in which I revealed that I had imbibed eight (eight!) shots at a Chinese wedding. For one, they were very small shots. For two, those people straight up tricked me. It happened like this. Everyone toasts the bride's parents. When they came around to our table, they brought wine and small shots of something, they tell me it was bai jiu, for the toasting. My friend, sitting next to me, had to take one sip of wine. That seemed reasonable enough, and I figured I would try a shot, just to see what it was like. So I took a shot. Hold on though - it was communicated to me that I should take two, one for the bride's mother and another for her father. I am not a rude person. I took another one. Great, they said, now another take two for the bride's mother! Wait a second, didn't I just...? Oh well. Two wasn't so bad (how wrong I was!) so I figured two more wouldn't hurt. Haha! So I took two for each of them. But really, they pointed out, for the mother one ought to take four shots. Oh. Really? Well...I am not a rude person. And what's six shots when you've already taken four? I took two more. And then, a few minutes later (this is where they get you), the bride and groom came around for their toasts! And again, my friend only had to drink once. I figured I would continue on the trend, you know, prove my manliness, take another shot, seven is a lucky number, whatever. I took another shot. Everyone was impressed. It was communicated that I should take one for the bride as well; I am a gentleman, and have no trouble drinking to a lady. That shot taken, everyone seemed excited for me to take another, and at this point, there was no apparent reason. Take another one, they said! For all I know, they talked to each other before coming in and decided to try to make me drunk by pretending it was the culturally appropriate thing to do. I called it quits after that.

They were really small shots.