Here Comes The Big One Pt. 6 (Wedding Day)

On Tuesday June 6th, 1944, the Allies launched an offensive attack on the shores of Normandy.

Destined to be the largest seaborne invasion in history, the operation began the liberation of
 German-occupied northwestern Europe from Nazi control.

This day's attack, so often referred back to by historians, journalists and soldiers alike, became known as D-day.

The amphibious landings were preceded by extensive aerial and naval bombardment, and an airborne assault--the landing of 24,000 American, British, and Canadian airborne troops shortly after midnight.

Allied infantry and armored divisions began landing on the coast of France at 6:30 am. The men landed under heavy fire from emplacements overlooking the beaches, and the shore was mined and covered with obstacles such as wooden stakes, metal tripods, and barbed wire, making the work of the beach clearing teams of men, both difficult and dangerous.

The Allies would suffer over 209,000 casualties, with nearly 37,000 dead amongst the ground forces and a further 16,000 dead among the Allied air forces.

Victory was achieved, but not without a price.

George Taylor, was an officer in the United States Army.

 While overlooking the carnage of the D-Day operation,  Taylor commented to a fellow officer,
"There are two types of people that are staying on this beach today.
Those that are dead, and those that are going to die."



When the Avendano household began to stir and rumble to a semi-state of consciousness on the morning of April the 2nd, 2016, we had unknowingly stumbled into a meeting with our very own day of destiny.

It was W-Day.

And Sammy wasn't going to make it out unscathed.

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I ended my last post by saying that we had some friends coming in for the wedding.

And when I found myself in the kitchen, the morning of the wedding, all the pieces became to come together as to what had exactly happened the night before. It was story time at the breakfast table.

Let me start at the beginning.

Back in 2012 (which truly does seem like 2 lifetimes ago), my family attended Pacific Coast Camp for the first time. We met many new people, and caught up with the ones we already knew.
PCC was incredible.

We also met Heidi, Emily, and Jenny, from Bro. Fraizer's church in Fontana, CA.

This picture is one of the few that has made it into my hall of fame. I've been quite proud of it for many years. So many girls.......and just me.

Heidi is in the grey, two girls to the left, and Jenny is in black just to the right.
(the picture also features another Jenny, Laura, Denay, Tony, Mrs. Montoya, and Cassia)

Emily is just on my left.

You know those people you meet, that you know you'll spend the rest of your life getting to know better? That's exactly who these girls were. 

We've been to Fontana multiple times, spent many a WCC together hanging out, and invite them up to Oregon constantly. 

When I ordered them to accept their invitation to Sam and Vanessa's wedding, I was so convincing that they acquiesced. 

I don't mean to make it sound like it was easy to get them up here..... for awhile they weren't sure that they were going to be able to come.

But after texting Emily and Heidi's dad and demanding--I mean, asking for his blessing on the trip, plane tickets were soon purchased and soon they were on their way. #orygunbound

Their flight landed in Portland close to midnight, so they were unable to come to the rehearsal dinner, but for the first couple hours I stayed up, sacked out on the couch in my dress clothes to welcome them in.

But they weren't coming. 

They said they were! But something was wrong. It was taking them way too long to get their luggage and start driving to McMinnville.

I later learned that they had actually gone to the wrong luggage carousel, and waited for their luggage. Never seeing it, all the terminals eventually closed down, and they had to find someone to help them hunt down their missing luggage. 

These ladies need a man to travel with.

FINALLY. I received texts that they were driving, on their way.

About 15 minutes or so, into the west bound drive, Emily texted me.

Emily: "How are the cops around here?"

Jacob: "They mean business, you guys better slow down."

Emily: "Wait...I think we're getting pulled over."

Jacob: "WAT. Noooo, you're pulling my leg."

Emily: *sends selfie with flashing blue and red lights in the background."

Jacob: -__________________-

Officer: "I noticed you were driving over the posted speed limit. Where are you guys from, California??"

Heidi: "Yep."

I don't know how they did it, tears, bribery, logic, but they didn't get a ticket, and drove the rest of the way to our neighborhood uneventfully. 

They pulled up to the wrong house and were just about to wreck my family's frail relationship with the new neighbors by pounding on their door at 1 am in the morning, when contact was made with my mom and redirected them to my Grandma's house (Grandma's Hotel, as we call it), where they would be staying. 

I always enjoy a good story while I eat my Honey Bunches of Oats.


The girls came over to say hi before me and my brothers left for the church, the days festivities just about to begin.

A recent picture. Didn't we turn out so good??


Early on, I reserved the right to drive Sam to the wedding. He couldn't take a car to the wedding, cause his Buick was already up in Portland, ready to take them to the airport.

So someone would have to drive him.

It wasn't just any drive...it was the drive of all drives, the last time he would ride in a car as a single man.

I got the car started early, turned the temperature to a comfortable 70 degrees, and started playing the perfect wedding day music.

W-Day was about to commence.

I knew that I would relay this story for years to my friends, children, grandchildren, and perhaps in my autobiography.
The time I drove Sam to his wedding.

So I had to made it worth remembering.

We rolled up the the stop sign on the corner of Michelbook and Wallace,  a mere 500 yards from the church.

I clicked it into Sport mode, and stepped on the gas from a dead stop.

We wheeled around the corner, tires squealing, and drifted into the opposite lane, narrowly missing the curb before settling back into the right lane and quickly approaching the church driveway, still accelerating.

Sam looked at me with concern in his eyes and said, very calmly, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING??"

I don't remember what I said, but I remember what I was thinking.

I was having a flash back to some summers in the days gone by.

The good ole day summers that everyone has. The summers where the break from school seems to present with itself endless opportunities.

It was in a few of these summers that I gained my conditioned nerves of steel, at least when it comes to driving or being driven.

You see, Sam had my Grandma's old 1985 Corolla.

It was in this car I learned that stick-shifts are fun, burning break pads smell, drifting is harder than it looks, and cornering on gravel can be unpredictable, all from the passenger seat.

The apprentice learned well.



We turned into the church parking lot and parked by the entrance into the school lunchroom.

Busting through the doors, we joined the rest of our regiment.

It was W-Day.

We were ready for anything.