Still Growing: An Autobiography (21 page)

In the middle of dinner, the waiter approached our table. “Ma’am, you have a phone call.”

I felt so important.
A phone call in a restaurant? Is it my agent? Has he booked me a big job?

“Hi, sweetie,” said a familiar voice on the line.

“Kirk?”

“I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you and missing you very much.”

“That is so sweet, Kirk. Thank you.” After a couple minutes of unabashed flirtation, I hung up. My parents seemed impressed with Kirk’s thoughtful call. Maybe this actor-guy was worth their daughter’s time after all.

A waitress interrupted our conversation. “Miss, the gentleman by the fireplace wanted me to give this to you.” She held out a long-stemmed rose.

“Dad!” I hissed. “What am I going to do? I’m
so
embarrassed.” I reached back to retrieve my flower to find Kirk, holding a bouquet of roses. He had secretly arranged the whole thing with my dad.
Be still, my heart
 . . .

I stayed for the next two weeks, getting to know her dad, mom and brother. It was a great time of going from complete strangers to friends. Having seen what kind of family Chelsea had, I flew back to L.A. even more impressed with her.

Only a week or two after our trip, Chelsea got a call from her brother: “You’ve got to get home
now
. Dad is dying.”

Chelsea called me, barely able to breathe, sobbing. I immediately booked a flight to New York and we got there before her father passed away.

When my sister had pushed me to fly to New York, there was a lot more going on than a romantic movie storyline. I believe the hand of God was at work in that spontaneous decision. Chelsea’s dad was one of the most important people in her life—she says he was “one of the loves of her life.” It would have hurt her beyond belief if I had not gotten to know this man who meant so much to her. And I enjoyed the privilege of spending two weeks with him.

During the summer hiatus from
Growing Pains
, I spent another month with her family at their lake cottage, getting to know Chelsea’s extended family. By early fall, I began asking myself,
Is Chelsea the one?

I followed that up with,
Can you picture your life without her?

The answer was obvious:
No! I don’t want to go a day of my life without her!

I had always said I wouldn’t get married until I was at least 21, and now at 19, I was giving it serious consideration. Was I too young? Most advised me to wait: “Don’t give up your youth,” they said. “Play the field. There’s a lot of women out there. Haven’t you heard? You’re
Kirk Cameron!
”

Yet marriage never seemed like a crazy move to me. It felt right—that it was the next, obvious step in making our relationship permanent. I didn’t want to ever let Chelsea go.

Through reading the Bible, I was learning more and more about God’s design for marriage. According to divine design, marriage is a covenant, not a contract. A contract can be broken, but a covenant is
forever. When marriage is just a contract, you will focus on your rights; when it is a covenant, you will focus on your responsibility. If you see marriage as a contract, you look for loopholes; when you realize it’s a covenant, you learn to stay committed for life. Contracts are written on paper and based on mistrust—which explains why you put it in writing. (A lawyer advised Chelsea and me to sign a pre-nup, just in case things didn’t work out. We refused.) A covenant, on the other hand, is a verbal promise based entirely on faith and commitment.

Many Hollywood couples split before the ice sculpture has thawed. You wonder why they even bother.

The following October, about a year after our first kiss by the fireplace, I bought a diamond for Chelsea. I had the setting modeled after the classic ring Tiffany made famous. It was perfect. I slipped the black velvet box into the inside breast pocket of a sport coat that hung in my closet. Every day, I made sure it was still there, checking before I left for work and again when I got home. I lived this OCD routine for two months, waiting for the right moment.

I brought my parents and sisters with me to spend Christmas in Rochester, New York, as guests of Chelsea’s family. There, I took Chelsea’s mother and brother aside to quietly ask permission to marry Chelsea. They both gave their consent.

I thought that if Kirk was going to propose, it would be on Christmas while both families were together—but it didn’t happen. I think Kirk’s mom was disappointed.

On December 30, Kirk and I shared a date at the Asa Ransom House (the same restaurant where Kirk had surprised me with the flowers) to exchange one more set of Christmas gifts. Snow floated down outside our window throughout dinner. Slowly the patrons left, until we were the last ones there. After our dessert plates had been cleared, Kirk gave me a small wrapped gift. I tore away the wrapping paper to find a heart-shaped, white music box. I opened it and stared at a beautiful diamond ring nestled in the center of a red velvet pillow.
Kirk slid to one knee. “Chelsea, will you marry me?”

I soaked in the moment and through tears said, “Yes.”

Just then, I saw a flash outside the window behind our table. Someone had captured our private moment on film. While I felt a bit violated, I shrugged it off and decided not to care. What could I do about it, anyway?

I had everything I wanted. I had Chelsea, and she was more than enough.

Back on the set, tension was as thick as military-grade nerve gas. My requests for changes had left many people angry. Some did their best not to speak with me. It didn’t help that I had ostracized myself from them as well. While not all the cast members were openly at odds with me, others were—and it was very uncomfortable.

Animosity at work was one thing, but now that I was going to get married, I questioned what to do.
Should I invite my TV family—the Seavers—to the wedding?
If I did, I would also feel obliged to invite the producers, as well as some of the writers and members of the crew. I wanted things to be as they had been during our early seasons. But truthfully, it wasn’t the same anymore. Even worse, I think some saw Chelsea as part of the problem—which I know really hurt her. She knew that she had nothing to do with the conflict.

I didn’t want their presence at my wedding to be phony. I didn’t want to be preoccupied with people who had resolved to have grudges against me. I envisioned the day we got married as the happiest day of our lives.

When I asked Chelsea about it, she said, “That decision is totally up to you.”

I kept thinking,
They’re so mad at me. They don’t even like me. I don’t think they’d even want to come. And the last thing I’d want is for them to feel they have to come out of obligation . . . or to put on a happy face for the inevitable press
.

I really felt badly that things were how they were. I didn’t want them to be that way. I cared a lot about each of them. Not inviting the
cast and crew wasn’t about getting even. There was nothing to get even about. I was sure they weren’t truly happy for us, which didn’t exactly put them at the top of our guest list. I didn’t see the point in inviting rain on our wedding day.

After many weeks of inner turmoil, I made a decision. Considering all the circumstances and feelings involved, I decided to keep our wedding day quiet and very private.

Almost every girl dreams of the perfect wedding. I was not one of those girls. I viewed our wedding as just that:
our
wedding. It was about Kirk and me, so whether things went “right” or “wrong” didn’t matter because to me there was no right or wrong. (Which is a good thing, because my bridesmaid’s flowers were absolutely hideous.)

We planned to marry in the small old chapel in Buffalo where my parents had gotten married. The old chapel didn’t have any air conditioning, and we chose to get married on July 20, 1991—a day that was 90 degrees and 90-percent humidity. Even that was okay, because the wedding was perfect.

A woman designed an old-fashioned dress for me: long sleeves with real heirloom hooks and eyes from the neck to below the waist and from elbow to wrist. The dress was so beautiful—though I was 45 minutes late to my wedding because of those crazy hooks! At one point, I was resigned to walk down the aisle with the back of my dress split in the shape of a capital
V
. My bridesmaids, dripping with sweat, worked so hard to help me, like animated mice in Disney’s
Cinderella
.

The chapel was beautiful in its simplicity; we had no need for elaborate decorations. I carried a beautiful bouquet of gardenias and white roses. The girls carried hideous blooms that had this giant green thing sticking out of them (I have no idea how we ended up with those flowers). I hated those flowers, but again, didn’t stress and didn’t much care—this day was not about flowers.

The limousine drove down streets lined with thousands of Buffalonians, all out to give us their best wishes. I felt like the hometown
girl coming home to people who loved me.

I stepped out of the car, eager to marry the man I was (and still am) so in love with.

At the church, we had our own challenges. It was sweltering and muggy, like moist towels on a radiator. We had packed our guests as tight as humanly possible.

Another issue to contend with was security. Chelsea’s brother had made a sweep of the chapel before the ceremony. He found photographers hiding in the confessionals in the back of the church. Our minister then took him aside and told him that a priest was sitting in the second row, but that his collar wasn’t right.

Chelsea’s brother approached the man in the collar. “Hi. How are you doing?” he asked. “Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”

“I’m a good friend of the bride’s father. We went to Holy Cross University in Boston together,” said the man in the pew.

Knowing that his father never went to college, Chelsea’s brother realized this was not a priest, but an imposter. “No, you didn’t,” he retorted. “Get out.”

The man was removed.

Moments before the wedding, I asked my groomsmen to pray with me. I began to pray from a place of such gratitude for Chelsea that I cried. “Lord, thank You. You’ve been so
kind
to me. Next to the day I found You, this is the most wonderful day of my life. I promise that I will love this woman ’til I die.”

I’m sure Chelsea’s brother was a bit weirded out by the shameless emotion. After all, this was his
sister
. But my prayer was no more strange than having to kick a fake priest out of church!

We stood, and I was ready to meet my bride.

We stepped into the sanctuary, now matching the temperature of the equator. I waited as my beautiful sisters walked down the aisle. That was nice, but there was only one person I wanted to see.

Then she appeared in the doorway, backlit by the blazing sun.

She was absolutely, stunningly beautiful—ravishingly gorgeous. Time seemed to stand still, then crept to slow motion as she approached me.

Her mom escorted her down the aisle. She wore a white wedding dress beautifully fitted to her perfect form. I could not believe that I was the man who got to marry this beautiful girl. As she came toward me, I was overwhelmed by the goodness of God to give me this angel in white. Silently, I resolved in my heart to always honor, protect and cherish her.

The people of Buffalo were wonderful. After the ceremony, they chased us all over town, so it was challenging to move around, but they didn’t ruin a thing.

At the reception, held at a small country club, my brother gave a special toast, talking a lot about my dad. I missed my father a lot, but was so grateful that he had met Kirk. That took a little of the sting out of his absence.

Our reception was
so fun
. The guests danced and laughed and there was such joy. Everyone had a great time. I cannot think of any way the day could have been better (well, except the flowers!).

After the reception, we slipped away to our special spot, the Asa Ransom Inn, where we spent our wedding night. Our honeymoon was short and sweet—two days mountain biking in Vermont—because we were due back to work.

Chelsea and I returned to the set with apprehension for the start of the final season (season 7), united in holy matrimony. Not only had I not invited my cast members or producers to the wedding, but due to our strained relationships, I had neglected to even inform them of our upcoming nuptials. Because it was the middle of summer and the show was on hiatus, they found out by watching the news. (Gulp.)

In my immaturity, I made a poor choice that created even more tension and a lot of hurt feelings. But hindsight is always 20/20.

If I had it to do over again, I would tell the cast we were engaged. Happy for me or not, I should have told them.

Chelsea also wished I had talked to the cast. It may not have changed any hurt feelings, but at least they would have understood why we were having a small, private wedding. Regardless, it would have been a better way to handle it.