THE BEST MAN(?)

Summer of 2024.

It was a Sunday, and I was at home in Studio City, CA watching Aaron Boone mismanage my Yankees to yet another loss. My phone buzzed - an incoming FaceTime call from my son, Kris, who was in New York for six months, working on the Netflix series Black Rabbit.

A welcome distraction. I’ll always choose a chat with my son over baseball.

Unless, you know, it’s the playoffs.

I ditched the game.

Hey, dad.

Hey, bubba. How’s New York?

From what I could see on my iphone, New York was great. Kris was sprawled out on a blanket in a Brooklyn park, alongside his fiancee Sophie. She’d convinced her boss to let her work remotely for half a year, so she could be with her man. They were young, adventurous, in love and living their best lives.

And on this particular day, as they soaked up the sun with a bottle of wine, deli sandwiches and a basket of artisanal chips, the tableau looked not unlike a scene that could have featured my wife and me 30 years ago.

The circle of life.

They’d recently gotten engaged over the July 4th weekend. Kris pulled out every stop and went all in, as he often did. He rented a luxury convertible, booked a swanky waterside hotel in the Hamptons, got down on a balky knee and popped the question a few feet from the Long Island Sound. My boy was the master of the grand gesture, whether he could afford it or not. They were deliriously happy, and you just can’t put a price on that.

Dad, can I ask you something?

I was expecting something that was going to require either my advice or my money. It was neither.

Will you be my best man?

I have to be honest here. My first reaction wasn’t joy, pride or gratitude. Instead of being elated, I was in a little bit of shock - not only because of the timing (they’d just gotten engaged), but because Kris had a lot of Best Man options and, frankly, I didn’t even think I’d be on his short list.

My son was very popular, with a massive circle of loyal, long-term friends. Smart, funny guys. Guys he’d bled with on sports fields, stayed up all night with, argued about girls with, and got into trouble with. They were the more logical candidates.

And besides, asking your old man to stand up for you at the altar…who does that?

Well, Kris does.

So, caught completely off guard, my first thought was Buddy, you can do so much better than me.

Fortunately that was just a thought - my inside voice. What I said out loud was, Really?

Of course dad. I love you, I respect you more than anyone on the planet and I want you up there with me. Say yes.

Wow.

I knew my son loved me. But asking me to be his Best Man - that’s next level right there.

Kris, I would be honored.

Of course, I can never leave well enough alone.

But if you have a moment of clarity, and a change of heart, feel free to ask someone else. I won’t be offended.

Shut up, dad. You’re the best man to be my best man! Deal with it. End of discussion.

Well, not quite. Kris always adds on to a conversation you think is over.

And I can’t wait to hear your speech. It’s gonna be amazing.

Gulp.

Oh, yeah. The Best Man speech.

I procrastinated as long as I could, as is my way, but once the venue was booked and the invites were in the mail, it was real. So I googled the hell out of the phenomenon of fathers doubling as best men.

I read myriad articles about double duty dads and their responsibilities, and did a deep dive on their speeches. I also watched countless YouTube videos of d-cubeds delivering the goods at their sons’ weddings.

Some were short and to the point. Some were interminable. Some were poignant and sappy, and some were laugh out loud funny.

I was determined to deliver something both sentimental and funny - something Kris would be proud of.

I quickly learned that when it comes to the best man speech, the wedding industrial complex has a lot of thoughts about what’s acceptable and what isn’t. Lot’s of do’s (going with the AP Stylebook) and don’ts.

The Do’s:

Thank the bride’s family for hosting the event.

Welcome the guests and shout out the out of towners who showed up.

Welcome the bride into the family.

Express deep pride in the man your son has grown up to be.

Share an endearing childhood story that shows his character.

Highlight a moment when you knew he found the right partner.

Offer simple honest advice for a happy marriage.

Remind them to laugh together and support each other through hard times.

Lead the room in a final toast to the bride and groom.

Fair enough. I would’ve included most of the things on that list into the speech anyway. They’re logical inclusions. But there was a problematic do.

Keep it to 5-7 minutes. Don’t prattle on.

Fat chance. It would take me 2 minutes just to read the list of do’s.

Dont’s:

Don’t make it too funny. It’s not about you. You don’t want to pull focus from the groom.

Keep the jokes safe - you don’t want to offend anybody.

Okay a couple of potential problems there. For one, our father-son relationship was forged through and galvanized by three things: sports, music and comedy. Since leaving the nest, Kris has become a true denizen of LA’s nighttime comedy club scene and is a huge fan of the comedy roast.

So, he told me to make it as funny as I could, outrageous even.

“Dad, roast me for 10 and say some nice shit for 5. I’ll be awesome.”

He wasn’t remotely worried about me stealing the spotlight. Probably because he’s proved over the last 20-something years that he excels at riffing off my jokes. He’d make it funnier.

As for keeping the jokes safe, that was a non-starter. I was certain to offend at least somebody. It’s just the way it is. Not only am I not what you’d call politically correct, I’ve also got a mouth on me. The occasional obscenity would drop. Count on it.

To address that, I considered beginning with a disclaimer, along the lines of.

Hey, thanks, for being here. I’d like to just cancel myself now, and get that out of the way.

PUTTING SOMETHING - ANYTHING - ON PAPER

I figured the best first step was to begin with an outline, breaking down the main blocks of the speech, addressing all of the mileposts that were supposed to be included.

Then I started filling in the blanks, overwriting - of course - knowing that I’d be cutting it down. It’s better to have more material than you need, and then have to scale it back, than it is to not have enough and have to fill.

I read what I’d written out loud many times to get a sense of how it sounded. I have a pretty good ear for writing dialogue, but it’s a horse of a different color when the dialogue you’re writing is for you.

Some of it sounded stilted or forced, some sounded corny when I was going for poignant, and some just wasn’t funny.

Cut. Slash. Burn.

I kept writing, polishing and cutting until I had what seemed like a well-written, well-balanced speech about the most important man in my life. It straddled the line between sentimental and humorous. I was certain it would draw laughs and inspire tears.

Then I timed it.

20 minutes.

Oh boy.

Kris told me he’d been to a wedding where the father rambled on for more than a half hour and people were ready to riot. Despite that, he told me to go as long as it felt right to me, to say all the things I wanted to say, to joke as much as I wanted, and to not worry about a stopwatch, because “you’re incapable of being boring.”

Yeah, right. Not what you’ve said for most of your 28 years.

Nevertheless, I was resolved to keeping the length to around 12 minutes, max. That seemed like a decent target for me. Unfortunately to accomplish that I had to - as William Faulkner would suggest - kill my darlings.

One of those darlings was a whole block I’d written about Kris’s propensity to tell everyone - including strangers - that he’s a product of IVF.

I was going to drop the bombshell on him that he was actually born a triplet, as often happens with fertility treatments, and that we had to - unfortunately - sell his brothers Lars and Sven to pay for his travel baseball.

Then I was going to mention that it’s not right for just me to be standing next to him, when there was a much bigger reason Kris was born. And then, channelling Carrot Top, pull out a turkey baster. Kris hates prop comedy. It woulda been perfect.

Cut. Slash. Burn.

Also, on the dead darling heap, a bit about how when we were trying to get him to tell us something about Sophie, he shut us down. Finally, he gave us a few deets. “Well, she’s beautiful, smart and funny. And she comes from a Lebanese family.” “Great,” I said, “have you met both of her moms?” “Dad, I said Lebanese!”

I did my due diligence on this joke, and it passed muster with both a Lebanese-American friend and my lesbian next door neighbor. They both assured me it was funny and not offensive in the least.

But this had to go too, along with assorted other darlings.

PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE

I didn’t want to be the guy staring blindly down at a stack of printed pages or rigid index cards when I delivered my speech. I wanted to own the room, live in the moment, and maintain eye contact with Kris and Sophie.

That felt more personal to me.

So I was gonna perform a bit of a high wire act for me and memorize the whole speech. (At least I thought I was.) This way, I could speak directly to my son. And also connect with the room - especially my wife, our friends and family, and anyone else who hadn’t walked out yet on my speech.

But just in case….I created a word doc which I would have available on my phone.

I would refer to it only if necessary.

I really thought I could pull this off. I really did.

A few years ago, I was part of a one act festival at the Whitefire Theater in Studio City, CA where I essentially delivered a 17 minute speech as the entire one act. I managed to pull it off, and I was a non-actor performing for other actors, critics and a theater audience.

This would just be in front of family and friends. And I wasn’t acting - I was speaking from the heart.

Easy breezy, right?

THE CEREMONY

October, 2025

Kris and Sophie’s big day arrived on a spectacularly beautiful LA Saturday.

Everyone was joyous.

And I was a wreck.

I was thrilled that my rugrat was all grow’d up and taking a bride, but I was totally in my own head about not letting him down.

I was afraid I was gonna choke. What if I blanked on what I’d memorized?

What I didn’t mention about my Whitefire Theater experience was that on opening night, I was confronted with an intense fight or flight moment.

I came this close to taking flight. Seriously.

And that was after some gastrointestinal distress that desecrated the one-seater restroom in the theater lobby.

(Sorry, Neda.)

That night of one-acts coulda and woulda carried on without me - sans a hitch. I was the only one “actor'‘ in my one act. They’d just move up move each play up one spot.

Fleeing was not an option today.

I just wanted my speech to be spectacular, so my boy would end the day proud of his old man.

So forward I marched.

Up the aisle to join Kris at the altar, where I stood by his side.

I did not expect to be as emotional as I was - being on the verge of tears during the entire ceremony - and this was not helping my confidence any.

I was a basket case.

A basket case who did not really love public speaking to begin with, and who now was likely to burst into tears during his Best Man speech.

The ceremony was beautiful. My boy was hitched.

Everybody congregated outside for cocktail hour, where I was plied with Dirty Martinis - Kris’s chosen signature cocktail - for the better part of an hour, before everyone adjourned to the tables inside for the speeches.

SHOWTIME

The Johansen contingent was small but mighty, filling up about 3 of the 20 tables at the reception. At our table - which was right in front Kris and Sophie - were my sisters Karen and Janis, nieces Olivia and Delaney, Kris’s godparents - Tom and Kate Kerner - who flew in from Boston, and my buddies Dale Lawrence and Jim Ackerman who came in from New York.

They all did their best to calm me down with variations of you got this.

After speeches by Sophie’s dad, Dave, mom, Ev and brother, Alex it was my turn.

I think it was my turn.

I can’t be 100% sure because the DJ didn’t announce me as either the Father of the Groom or Peter Johansen, but with the sort of casual And now, here’s PJ.

I got up anyway.

As I walked up to Kris’s table to take the mic, I’m pretty sure I heard the 140 or so people who hadn’t met me mutter, Who’s that?

Anyway, slightly buzzed and very emotional, I launched into my speech.

I began by thanking Dave and Evelynne for hosting such a wonderful event. Then I thanked everyone for being there, with a special shout out to the Johansen family and friends who flew in from 4 different states on the east coast.

Then I talked about how I felt standing next to my son as not only his dad but as his best man. As his dad it was all about love, pride and hope. And I mentioned that I was also overjoyed that somehow in this dumpster fire of a world, where nothing is certain, he has found his certainty in Sophie.

Apparently, some people thought this was a political statement.

Screw that. The world was - and is still - a dumpster fire. Deal with it.

Next I talked about how, in my capacity as best man, I was truly honored. That after all we’ve been through as a father and son - with plenty of ups and downs - he chose me out of all the people who could have picked, to stand by his side on this special day. And that I’ve never been more honored.

I shared a couple of young Kris factoids and stories that draw distinct parallels to who he is today. The first was the fact that he was born prematurely - almost 6 weeks early - which was the first documented instance in New York Hospital history of in utero FOMO. The kid just didn’t want to miss anything. That’s still the case to this day.

And the second involved his mastery of language at a young age. He was super verbal and never missed anything. His head was always on a swivel. When he was two - and we’d just relocated to LA - I was in a parking lot about to pull into a spot when a guy sped around the corner and cut me off, grabbing my space and almost colliding with us. Kris was in his carseat. My first reaction was yelling You douchebag. Cut to: the aisles of the supermarket. I’m pushing a cart, Kris in the seat, his little legs dangling through the holes. We’re heading down the vegetable aisle and I notice Kris pointing. “What is it, buddy?”

“Look, daddy, Douchebag!”

It was the parking lot ne’er do well, fondling a zucchini.

I emphasized to the guests that still, to this day, Kris notices everything, is not afraid to speak his mind and is still excellent at spotting a douchebag.

Which, I pointed out, is very useful since he works in television.

I talked about our relationship and the things that brought us together, and the memories I cherish the most.

Then I looked him in the eye and recited a list of the things I love about him. My voice cracked after the third thing, and there were tears after the tenth.

I turned to Sophie and told the guests how quickly Yvonne and I fell in love with her. And I looked her in her eyes, and told her how grateful we were that she came into Kris’s life and gave him purpose. And I thanked her for being his true north and safe harbor.

It was all going so well. And then…

I lost my train of thought.

I couldn’t remember what the next section of my speech was. So I looked down at my phone for the first time so I could scroll to the right place.

Did I mention that I have an iphone 12, which might as well be an iphone -3. It has a miniscule screen that you need a jeweler’s loup to read.

My eyesight is good, which doesn’t really matter when your phone screen goes black. Which mine did.

So there I was, basically bringing my wonderful speech to a screeching halt while I fired my antiquated phone back up….and then frantically scrolled with sweaty frantic fingers through the tiny script trying to find my place.

The silence was deafening. I had no choice but to break it.

So, as I thumbed the screen in panic mode, I riffed out loud … “masturbation story, bailing Kris out in Thailand, talking him out of penis piercing” …. not ideal … until I found my place.

Which I eventually did. Ah yes - marriage advice. I regrouped and moved on.

I was told later, that my advice was a bit controversial. To the newlyweds, I called bullshit on the old adage that you should never go to bed mad. I told them to ignore that. That sometimes, after a long exhausting day at work or a couple of drinks, you just can’t always resolve an argument. Sometimes continually talking about the issue can make it worse. So, if necessary, it’s okay to go to bed mad. Just make sure you wake up less mad and - ideally - in each other’s arms.

I got a standing O from one woman at table 11.

Not from her hubby, though. Jeez, I really hope they didn’t go to bed mad.

And to drive home the importance of patience and understanding, I leaned on a classic Don Henley lyric from Not Enough Love in the World, to remind them that no two people are exactly the same, and that marriage is about celebrating your differences: “I’m not easy to live with. I know that it’s true. But you’re no picnic either baby, it’s one of the things I love about you.”

I looked at my son, then at my new daughter-in-law, and left them with some parting advice:

“Remember Kris, happy wife, happy life. And Soph, microdose a shroom, happy groom.”

Nice laugh. Especially from Kris, Sophie, their friends and a few people under 30.

Then it time for the toast, which I’d read in a dozen or so articles, was the duty of the Best Man.

Only Dave beat me to it.

So did Ev.

As well as Alex.

Wasn’t gonna stop me though.

Everyone joined me in raising a fourth glass to Hollywood’s new IT couple, Sophie and Kris Johansen.

I sat down…17 minutes and 38 seconds later - a new personal record, take that Whitefire Theater… relieved. And honored.

And more importantly, Kris loved the speech.

Even the masturbation ad lib.