Starting now, my columns will be renamed “The Getting Old Chronicles,” with this being Chapter 1 titled “One of my kids is getting married!”

That’s right, the first of four dominos fell recently when my 22-year-old son, Vincent, asked his girlfriend of seven years, Brooke Maines, to join the Mrs. Franco club, currently occupied by three other lovely ladies in our family.

She said yes.

Popping the question took place in January — during the NFL playoffs, mind you, but people do crazy things for love — but the wedding looks like a possible 2027 summer or fall get-together. That’s me talking, though, not the happy couple.

The first thing I said to Brooke was basically you have now forfeited your right to a private, quiet life because I pretty much document anything and everything about my family that makes me laugh, makes me cry, and mostly, makes me not want to spend money in my column.

But I know I really don’t have a say in anything, which is pretty much what my wife will be drilling into me over the next 12-24 months, but my belief is that this is America, and I have a right — and a monthly column — to not complain, but point out inconsistencies with what a couple in 2026 thinks about weddings, and what a guy who got married in 1994 thinks.

My best friend’s daughter is getting married this May. He pretty much believes I need to waive the white flag now and begin biting the bullet. I’m going to need an NFL-size mouthpiece to keep from chewing off my tongue.

I know what my wife and daughters are probably thinking right now, and it’s “Run Brooke Run while you have a chance,” but it’s no use because the Mirror is read not only in Blair and surrounding counties, but this wonderful thing called the internet means my friends in Florida and surrounding states can read how I am going to handle my first wedding.

You can run. You can hide. But I will still write.

Don’t get me wrong, because she is a lovely young lady who is extremely intelligent, studying for a career in medicine at Saint Francis, where she is a year behind Vinny, who graduates on May 9 this year. We love her.

Which is why — in my mind at least — I am allowed to poke fun at her and her soon-to-be Mr. Franco.

And if I am able to make her laugh, and her friends, that is a huge win for me since my demographics are her grandparents, Neil and Colleen Maines, who are also wonderful people. Brad and Elisha Maines, Brooke’s parents, are wonderful people, too, but I am still going to complain about the cost of weddings in 2026, though they are footing a big chunk of the bill. It’s America. We’ve been complaining for … coming up on 250 years!

My uncle Frank DeLeo once told Ann Marie and I that we were spending too much on our wedding, and we were talking like $3,500 to $4,000. He thought we were nuts. He told us to go find a church basement, have ham-and-cheese sandwiches, potato chips and pretzels, beer, soda and cake and that’s it. We thought he was crazy. Now, Vincent and Brooke are going to think I am crazy. Who doesn’t love cake?

I was thinking about a covered-dish rehearsal dinner, where the Mrs. and I put up the main dish and drinks, but I am pretty sure I will get no support on that, especially since Uncle Frank passed away several years ago. The Mrs. and I once went to a graduation party where there was a hot dog bar with all kinds of toppings, plus mac and cheese and a veggie tray. My favorite graduation party that I’ve ever attended, but again, I won’t even get that on the ballot for a possible vote.

Ann Marie told me I am worrying too much, and way too early, about the upcoming nuptials. Does that mean there will be an appropriate time to begin worrying about this stuff? I’m listening, and ready to write another column … soon.