I paid for all my kids’ weddings. One rule: all family invited. I’ve always believed that a wedding isn’t just about two people; it’s about the joining of two tribes, and in our tribe, that includes the screaming toddlers and the sticky-handed cousins. My oldest son had a backyard bash, and my middle daughter had a fancy hotel ballroom event, and both times, the dance floor was a beautiful mess of generations. I never thought my youngest, Naomi, would be the one to challenge the only condition I ever placed on my financial support.

My daughter wanted it child-free because her fiancé, Harrison, “can’t stand kids.” When she sat me down in my living room in Surrey to tell me this, I actually thought she was joking at first. Harrison always seemed a bit stiff—a high-flying consultant who looked like he’d been pressed in a suit factory—but I figured he was just shy. Naomi, however, was dead serious, her eyes flashing with a defensive fire I hadn’t seen since she was a teenager. She told me that having kids there would “ruin the aesthetic” and that Harrison’s nerves couldn’t handle the unpredictability of children.