We are gathered here today ...

THE BRIDE IS WEARING A beautiful white gown. We all know what white represents. That’s right: surrender.

“You must become a student of your wife, Andrew,” the minister is saying. “Anticipate her wants and desires, before she even voices them herself.”

Now they tell me. In fact, had someone mentioned this at my own wedding, it would’ve saved me a lot of agony. When it comes to marriage, I almost never study. I’ve still got homework due from 1984.

The minister continues. A car alarm goes off, interrupting his next bit of advice.

“Andrew, that’s the lord’s way of saying, ‘Listen up,’ ” the minister says.

I have been to a lot of weddings, perhaps too many. After college, there was a flurry of them. Who knows why exactly? I’m pretty sure we were brainwashed by our mothers. But believe me, a lot of those brains needed washing.

Back then, the receptions were like the closing ceremonies of childhood. Too much beer. Too much cake. Almost every weekend, another college buddy fell. Till there were no more buddies. Saturday nights have been pretty quiet ever since.

Two decades later, it is our children who are beginning to tie the knot. J.P. and Nancy, the neighbors down the block, are marrying off their eldest daughter, the one with the lemonade hair. The one who was just 12. You mean she’s finished grade school? What do you mean she’s done with college?

But for one afternoon time seems to stop. By the ocean’s edge we gather -- handsome Californians in linen and cotton and splotchy summer tans. A backdrop of blue. You can hardly tell where the sky ends and the ocean takes over.

And then there’s that sea air. The breath of angels, this air. Nice job, God. For a single guy, you sure throw a nice wedding.

“Do you, Summer, take Andrew to cherish and to hold, till death do you part?” the minister asks.

“I do,” she says.

Of course, she does. Only in Julia Roberts movies do brides back out at moments like this. Because in real life, the crowd would kill you. Everyone got all dressed up for nothing?

None of that drama here. It’s a near-perfect ceremony in someone’s near-perfect yard. The bride’s brother leads a hymn. The minister elicits some light laughter. I’m a big believer in short weddings and long marriages.

The couple exchanges the two rings. We all know what that symbolizes. Little handcuffs.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the young minister says, “I now present to you Andrew and Summer.”

I’ll tell you this about marriage. I still get chills at moments like this. Because, day in and day out, our own union has been an unabashed orgy of love, passion and emotional intimacy. Christmas we take off, but every other day my wife and I have all those things. Obviously, it can be physically exhausting. It’s amazing we both don’t weigh, like, 11 pounds.

“Look at all the food,” the little girl gasps inside the nearby reception tent.

“Finally,” I say.

“Please don’t embarrass us,” my lovely bride says.

She’s seen me at buffets before. She knows the dangers. By virtue of a cold and tiny heart, I am able to fit more free food inside my body than almost any other man. My motion with a fork resembles a racquetball serve.

“Did you taste these shrimp?” I ask my wife.

“How can you eat so much?” she wonders, with breathless disbelief.

“One big bite at a time,” I explain through a wad of beef kebab.

Later, she warns me off dessert.

“They’re very rich,” she says.

“Really?” I say.

“Yes,” she says, “you may only want three.”

Fortunately, I have a baby to chase around. He toddles from one table to another locking eyes with any eligible woman under the age of 110.

He may be the next Brando, this baby. He doesn’t talk so much as grunt and stumble around with an unexplainable charisma. Every time I look up, he’s tunneling under some lovely stranger’s dress.

“Where’s your dignity?” I ask him at one point.

“Left it in the car,” he says.

From table to table, he goes. He shows up, smiles, then goes right for the prettiest face. He favors the older ones, age 10 and up.

“You can’t let him go like that,” my wife says.

“I’ll catch him,” the little girl offers.

“Try to keep him off the cake,” I say.

I have been to a hundred weddings. Most of the marriages lasted, some didn’t. But I’ll say this: I never lose faith. I never stop believing that it’s the front-end of the rainbow.

For a thousand years from now, there may be no more oil. No more “Survivor” episodes. Even Ralph Nader may be gone. But one thing won’t have changed. Human beings will still have weddings. Of all the mammals, we are probably the most hopelessly romantic.

Today, the young teacher with the lemonade hair is marrying the handsome future cop. Think there’s a future there?

I do.

Chris Erskine can be reached at chris.erskine@latimes.com.