An Unexpected Charivari

By Jo Ann Wagner

My fiancé and I arrived at my parents’ home on a Friday evening in April. We had come for our wedding on Sunday. We were greeted with the news that there was a charivari (shivaree) being held for us at the fire hall.

We were tired from the trip. I’d been planning what needed to be done the next day. Even though it was to be a small ceremony with only close family members, I still had to get some flowers for my bouquet, the bridesmaid, the groom, best man, parents. What else did I have
to do?

The last thing I wanted to hear that there was a charivari being held. I had no intention of going. “I didn’t know anything about a charivari tonight,” I said. “I’m tired and I’m not going.”

My soft-spoken, easy-going father pulled me aside. “You know if you don’t go there, they’ll come here. They have been known to steal brides. If you go for just a little while, they’ll be satisfied.”

I trusted my father. He may have felt some peer pressure to see that there was a celebration of some sort since we would be leaving after the wedding and we hadn’t planned a reception or dance or anything.

I took a few deep breaths and decided it was probably better to go than to have a bunch of drunken people come to my parents’ home to steal me away. Who knew how that might end?

We walked the two blocks to the fire hall breathing in the cool evening air. The hall was filled with people – friends and neighbors of my parents. They were a little loud, but not too rowdy yet. I talked with them for a while, glad to see some of them. Then we ate a little, and slipped out the door to let the partying continue.

I felt fortunate that my charivari experience had been peaceful, although it seemed to me to be mainly an excuse to party.