At my cousin's wedding, her American husband promised my uncle he would give her a lot of wrinkles. My uncle is not a talker. When my cousin Sayaka first brought Callum home from Portland, Maine, my uncle said six words to him in two days. Two of them were "more rice." Callum is an ER nurse. He decided the only way to reach my uncle was in Japanese. So for eight months, on night shifts, he practiced one speech out loud. Mostly to patients who were unconscious. At the reception, he rose before 120 guests, faced my uncle and bowed. The line he had practiced was "Father, I will make Sayaka happy." Happy, in Japanese, is shiawase. He said shiwa. Shiwa means wrinkles. "Father, I will give Sayaka many wrinkles." The room went silent. Sayaka covered her face. Callum, who had no idea, bowed again. Very proud. Then my uncle stood up. In sixty-eight years, he has never voluntarily touched a microphone. He took it. "Good," he said. "Wrinkles take fifty years." He sat back down. Sayaka started crying. Then my aunt. Then the whole table. Callum looked around and asked his new wife what he had done. "You said the right thing by accident." Nobody in our family says congratulations at weddings anymore. We raise our glasses and say, "Many wrinkles." Callum still thinks he nailed that speech. Technically, he did.