From white taffeta to the deafening roar of hometown fans

Saturday began with my goddaughter’s first communion. Sweetness and light, little girls in white lace and taffeta, little boys in sparkling white suits, little hands in prayer, little lips lifted in mischievous grins, marching down an aisle filled with adoring parents, relatives and friends. Precious beyond words.

I hadn’t seen my goddaughters in 5 years. The older, Alana, whose first communion was the cause for our reunion, had grown from chubby, sassy toddler into shy, slender pre-teen with waist-length black hair and a killer volleyball spike. The younger, Dominique, who is 8 going on 28, had grown from sweetness and vanilla cupcakes into sassy pink-skirted dancer and family socialite.

Dominique and I were best buddies within minutes. Though I’m usually stoic and obedient during Mass (old habits die hard), I quickly found myself giggling, tickling and cuddling with Dominique as though I were her newest bestest friend.

Alana is quieter and incredibly focused – her focus likely the source of her killer volleyball spike. Whereas the other girls wore white lace, ruffles and taffeta veils, Alana chose a simple white dress with her silky black hair as her only veil. The second she was home, she tore off her dress and climbed into baggy soccer shorts, a t-shirt and running shoes, while Dominique, still in pink, showed off her jazz slippers.

As though we’d never become too busy to call, my girlfriend and I giggled and chatted the afternoon away. Until it was time to change out of my spring flowered-suit into jeans, a Steve Nash basketball jersey and a Phoenix Suns hat.

I dressed for the game with no small amount of trepidation. Never mind that this was Game 7 of a playoff series the Suns nearly lost after a torturous Game 4. Never mind that the Suns star player was out for the season. My old friend and fellow Suns fan, who I hadn’t seen in 13 years, had suggested we both wear matching orange jumpsuits to add to the old home team cheer and had even procured them for the occasion.

He then sent me photos of himself titled “Born to be Wild” lest I not recognize him. From white taffeta and giggly girl talk, I drove to boy land with a fearful heart. Thankfully, I skated out of the orange jumpsuit, so impressed was he by my Steve Nash ensemble.

The game was rowdy and fantastic and surreal. The Suns played with fluidity and focus, and, from the minute the clock started ticking, the Lakers never once found momentum. This win was so sweet, that no one left the stadium even though our thirty point lead by the middle of the second half signaled clearly that the end for the Lakers was nie. The Suns fans stayed to the very end and beyond, screaming, shouting, crying, leaping and high-fiving with uninhibited exuberance.

From white taffeta to the deafening roar of hometown fans celebrating the sweetest of wins. Priceless.

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