#114 It’s a Dancefloor, not the Thunderdome
My cousin’s wedding. I was about 7 or 8 years old and vaguely remembered my grandmother grabbing my brother and I and leaving. I remember being mad cause I didn’t get any cake, didn’t get to dance, nothing. When I got married this year and was worried that my wedding was going to be a trash show, I was finally given the details as to why Gram made us leave so early.
My cousin was not in contact at the time with her birth father. He showed up at the reception anyway. Everyone more or less tolerated him for the time, as no one wanted to be the one to ruin my cousin’s wedding. At some point, he made a pass at my mom and said pretty nasty comments to a 14-year-old girl that was there.
My mom let the comments he made to her go, but the father of the 14-year-old girl did not. He punched him in the face. When he got punched, he fell backward onto another lady, whose husband, in turn, jumped on him. It turned into an eight-person brawl including my dad and one of my cousins. No idea how my dad or cousin got involved, but alcohol was a factor.
So where was my cousin—the bride—when all this was going down? She was in a truck with her new husband, engaging in some illicit substances. Twelve people, including my dad, one male cousin, the bride, and her new husband all got arrested at her wedding. She and her husband were caught in the truck when the cops showed up for the fight. I have a pretty trashy extended family.
Credit: LameGhost