Death & Weddings
It’s an odd journey, to be sure—how I came to quite literally film ‘love’ for a living—and one that started decades ago, long before I even realized my vocation. I film weddings because I must. I know what it is to forget—or never really know—someone, and I can’t have anyone else forgotten on my watch. I also need it for my own well-being. It is my therapy. It is my reminder that the world is vastly good, and it is my duty to remind the world of that with the stories I tell.
10/30
If you’ve spent any time on my website, you likely know the short of it. I was three years old, and my parents had recently exited the US Air Force (where they met, wed, and had yours truly). We were living with my grandparents in upstate New York while my parents adjusted back into civilian life, and my dad had found a job at a local manufacturer.
He had a lot of great qualities. I’m told he was the type who could’ve been imposing given his 6’4” athletic frame, if it weren’t for his gentle, protective, and comedic nature. He was also incredibly hardworking.
One day, he worked a double. That day was October 30th. We can only assume he was exhausted, as anyone is after working that many hours. On his way home, late at night, on a winding country road, he fell asleep at the wheel, veered off the road, and hit a tree. The police assured my family it was instant and painless for him, but for us it has been quite the opposite. He was just 28.
My dad, John McDonald, was a fighter jet mechanic in the USAF. You can see him here in a T-38 Talon.
I have a few memories of him, I think. I often wonder if they’re real, or if at some point I made them up, but ultimately I always come to the conclusion that it doesn’t really matter. He was real, and still is. I remember him standing in the atrium of some kind of a mall. He’s wearing a polo with green and white stripes. He’s just standing there, smiling at me. It feels warm, and orange, like golden hour. Another memory I have is sitting with him on some kind of whicker chair, playing a game. Whicker was everywhere back then; you had to be there. I don’t know why I remember these things, or why these memories have never been filed away to the deeper recesses of my mind, but I’m glad they’re there. They’re real enough for me, and beggars can’t be choosers.
I remember the strangest things from after his death. That time of my life seems to have been stained blue, but there are some memories and moments of levity, even if they are quintessentially mundane. My grandparents white farmhouse on the hill, their staircase, playing with my cousin, shooting my aunt in the ass with a Nerf gun and her ensuing displeasure and the chase that gave way. I remember my grandparents’ bed being unbelievably high. Then again, everything seems big when you’re three, and kids aren’t built to handle losses like that.
One moment I vividly remember is laying on a bed, crying. I think it was when I realized what death was; its gravity and finality. It was a typical spare room: sparse, with the third string decorations that had been bumped down the roster after a lifetime of accumulating things. There was one item that is burned into my mind though: on the dresser, which was across from the foot of the bed, was a set of porcelain hands clasped together in prayer. It was also a night light of sorts, and when on, gave off a soft orange glow. I must have laid there for hours, just staring at those praying hands. I don’t think I understood it at the time, or who I was pleading with, but I was saying a prayer too.
My Wedding
This is where the movie fades in and out of black and it’s clear a lot of time has passed. The boy on the bed is now 28, and he’s saving for an engagement ring.
We’ll jump ahead again. Ready? It’s September 2014, and I just proposed to my wife on 9/11—I am a blast aren’t I? We’re trying to plan for a Fall 2015 wedding, and know where we want to get married. We’d been at two weddings there that year and it checked all of our boxes. I was very stereotypical in my involvement and didn’t have much to say about the date or details. That is, until I heard the day we were getting married: October 30th. I’m a bit ashamed to say, it didn’t click at first. It wasn’t until around a week after my wife shared the date we’d booked that I—with an electric toothbrush in my mouth—realized the date. I walked into our living room and—with a mouthful of toothpaste—said something to the effect of “Ten-thirty. That’s the day my dad died.”
My words might have been muddied by the toothpaste, but she got the message. Her face drooped to a look of shock, and she immediately offered to find another date. I spit and rinsed, and returned, and we talked about it for a while. It may sound gimmicky, or like we were spinning it to make the day work, but I know in my heart how we came to the decision to get married on that day. “We’ll make it an important day” I said.
Jess & I on our wedding day.
You cannot change the past, and you cannot control everything that happens to you. You can choose how you react to it, though. We chose to let love triumph over grief. We chose to unite family separated for years over petty differences. We chose to dance, and celebrate with our people, and it was amazing. I never felt a single pang of guilt. I looked at our friends and family gathered there, many of whom knew my dad better than I did, and it made me so happy. At that point, I finally believed what people had been telling me my whole life: “He’d be so proud of you.”
Fatherhood
It’s two years later: August 2017. After being induced and a day of labor, Jess gave birth to our first child; a beautiful baby girl. We named her Ellie.
It wasn’t long after we’d gotten home from the hospital that I realized I wanted to document this kid’s life with an artist’s touch. I convinced Jess to let me buy a “real camera” (i.e. a DSLR) so I could photograph and film her in a more picturesque fashion. She obliged, and hours later I returned home with a “real camera”.
After a few months of filming Ellie, and the cats, and whatever else caught my eye, I put together a short film titled “Ellie’s Rainy Day” and posted it to Facebook. It garnered quite a response from my friends and family, several of whom said it made them cry. I must admit, it makes me cry now too, looking back at my big 1st grader when she was a newborn. Time flies…
Opportunity Knocks
Shortly after Ellie’s film debut, an old friend reached out to me. She loved the video, and presented me with a wild idea: “Would you consider filming my brother’s wedding?” I don’t think I paused or thought about it at all. “Yes!” I said.
Two months later, it was the eve of my first couples’ wedding. I’d never done it before, and I was doing it alone. It sounds crazy now, but that’s where it all started. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I sweat right through my jacket by the end of the ceremony. Still…I pulled it off. The couple and their family—most of all my friend—loved their wedding film. While it was one of the most nerve wracking experiences of my life, I was hooked. I knew it was something I could do, and do extremely well.
TENTHIRTY is Born
Once I produced work, I had to call myself something. I spent weeks brainstorming and ideating. I’d randomly spout a name out to my wife, only to get a “meh” and she was right, the potential names were meh. And then, I remembered my mantra: “ten-thirty”. The choice to rejoice, to be grateful, and to never hold back in proclaiming your love, not only because death can come at any moment, but because it is the best way to live.
“TENTHIRTY” I said to Jess.
“That’s it.”
The Part About Weddings
A great deal has happened between my first wedding and today, but the ‘what’ and ‘how’ of my journey is probably of more interest to a would-be wedding videographer than a potential client. I’d like to focus on what filming weddings for six years has taught me about life, and why I (absolutely love to and have to) do it.
Mainlining Joy
Weddings may be the most joyous event you can possibly experience. From the buzz of prep, to the intimacy of private vows and first looks, to ceremonies of all shapes, sizes, and faiths, and to the exquisite parties that cap the day, you can’t help but absorb it, and why wouldn’t you? As someone prone to depression, I jokingly refer to weddings as my therapy, but I’m actually being truthful. Witnessing such pure love and happiness lifts my spirits in a way that is hard to explain. I leave every wedding with my physical gas tank at 1% and my emotional gas tank at 100%, and I think that’s the best way to leave one whether you’re working it or you’re a guest.
Learning From the Best
I’ve found that the best teachers are the ones who do not teach at all. They instead live life in such a way that to spend even a few hours with them inspires you to be better. In some cases, it is my couple who teach or remind me what it takes to have a wonderful marriage. While I’ve been married longer than any couple I ever have or ever will film, that doesn’t mean I’ve got it all figured out, and just because they’ve been married for hours doesn’t mean I can’t learn from them.
More so though, it is the parents of my couples who I am often taking notes from. As a dad myself, I can’t help but be inspired most by some fathers of the bride or groom I’ve met over the years. I take the time to understand what exactly it is that I admire about them, and apply those things to my own life. As a new-ish parent and still relatively new husband, witnessing a happy family at this point in their lives is kind of like seeing the answers to a test before you take it. I want to be happily married to my wife when my kids get married—if they want to—and I want my kids to want me there, and to be as big a part of their day as they’ll allow me to be. I’ve shared some of this sentiment with some of the parents I’ve met over the years, and every time I’ve done it, they have lit up like Christmas trees, or even teared up. If you’re ever on the fence about sharing something lovely you see in someone, I implore you to do it.
Legacy
It was just a few years ago I had an odd and bewildering realization: I have no idea what my dad’s voice sounded like. It’s a weird and unfortunate thing to not know. I don’t want that for anyone. In fact, I want my couples to have a whole lot more than that. This is my ‘why’. I film weddings because I want my couples and their families to have priceless works of art to remember their day and their special people forever, and I want that because I know what it is to miss someone and wish I could see them and hear them even once. I may have fun doing this job, but I take it incredibly seriously. You love the people I’m looking at through my lens, and everyone there—and many who aren’t—love you. I try to film my subjects through that same lens: with love.
We imbue our creations with a bit of ourselves. It’s why we prefer the slightly imperfect. It’s human. And to lose and to love are maybe the most human of all things to experience. When I stand behind the camera, I’m remembering for you, and with you, with all of these things in mind:
This is the film you’re going to watch when you want to be reminded of your love for each other.
This is the film you’re going to watch when you miss someone states, countries, or oceans away.
This is the film you’re going to watch when you lose someone and miss them terribly.
This is the film your future friends are going to watch with you when they visit.
This is the film your kids are going to watch from your lap in the living room.
And it’s the film they’re going to watch when they lose you and miss you terribly.