"Wh-a-a-a-a-a-t?”

I semi-bellowed, a combination of glee and bewilderment, when my 43-year-old bachelor son informed me that he was, at last, getting married.

The glee was that he was marrying a lovely woman whom he had brought down from San Jose to meet us.

The bewilderment was that they had chosen to get married by an Elvis impersonator at Viva Las Vegas chapel.

Believe you me, I adapted quickly to the idea. I was so happy that he had found someone to love and who loved him right back. I would have been thrilled even if they had chosen to be married by a purple Martian.

It was a memorable weekend, with plenty of laughter and some tears of happiness, too, when the Ohio Reese brothers and their wives flew to Las Vegas to welcome the newest sister-in-law, daughter-in-law, wife and friend to the Reese clan.

Also participating in the festivities were my sister and bro-in-law from Phoenix and — a ready made family — my new daughter-in-law’s daughter and granddaughter. The latter was a pixie of about 20 months old with a mop of curly hair and a completely enchanting smile and personality.

Advertisement

It was such a kick for me to see my son serving this little princess her Froot Loops, wiping her mouth, and keeping her entertained. He’s got himself a wonderful family, and everyone got along great — including my oldest Reese granddaughter (19) who always was very close with her uncle. She made a red-eye flight the night before the wedding, was there to see her uncle tie the knot, took in a quick show (“Menopause: The Musical,” hilarious), had a whirlwind tour of Sin City and flew back the next night. Ah, youth!

I’ll never laugh at Elvis lovers again. This chapel did it up just fine. My son, resplendent in a cream linen suit. (Could I believe my eyes? — this, the young man who lives in shorts and T-shirts, even managing to work in those clothes.) G., my new daughter-in-law, wore a simple white sheath. The wedding party piled into a limousine that picked us up at the hotel.

Am I getting old, or what? Squeezing this bod into those long, low seats was a real challenge. It was like shoehorning a 40-pound salami into a 20-pound casing. The driver took pity on me and let me sit right by the wedding couple on the way back.

At the chapel, the officials got all the proper paperwork going, and then we had a mini-rehearsal. I was thrilled that my son wanted me to “give him away,” having been sure that he would choose his brothers for that honor.

We practiced walking into the chapel, which, to my delight, wasn’t tacky at all. Various relatives entertained the baby, while M. (my new granddaughter), her mother, my son and I walked in and were arranged by Elvis so that each new family member got to kiss her equivalent after the ceremony.

The words Elvis spoke were time-honored of loving, cherishing, caring for one another forever. I know mine weren’t the only tears in the chapel. Then Elvis sang “Love Me Tender,” and “I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You.”

Of course, the serious stuff was followed by picture-taking, with Elvis in typical arm-extended pose and coaxing us to do the same.

When the follow-up paperwork was complete, we all trooped out into the broiling sun and were delighted to see the new couple’s names up in flashing neon!

The guests were all busy taking pictures of the newly married couple, as well as each other. My two Ohio sons compete with one another on who takes the best photographs, so we will have to see the results before judging.

We all squoze back into the limousine and were driven back to the hotel, where we (mother-in-law and auntie) delivered some little favors. Mine were decks of cards with “56 ways to stay in love.” I figured those would be good for the oldly wed as well as newly.

Then, trailing Froot Loops, we all went up to the buffet and ate ourselves silly.

Yes, an Elvis wedding was different. Yet the sentiment was the same as at a more conventional venue. And I’ll never forget the look on my son’s face when he said, “I do.”

So, in the current chapter of the Reese Family Saga, I am now a great-grandmother.

I love it.

Niki Reese Eschen can be reached at stiki@verizon.net.