"Behind every good man," read the card from my mother, "is a ton of suppressed baggage suppressed just waiting to come out."

As I read these words for the third time, it occurred to me that my mother intended for this message to offer me marriage advice nicely packaged in humor.

As much as I appreciate the effort, her attempts clearly missed the mark. I'm glad she wasn't there to see the blank look on my face.

You see, next week, I'm getting married. And I consider this milestone an extremely significant achievement for me.

That's 26 years after my parents-now divorced for 22-decided to tie the knot as high school graduates.

For all but four years of my life, divorce has defined me. Most of my childhood memories involve my parents as separate entities, connected by little else than their relationship with my younger brother Alex and me.

My mom and dad-now mostly recovered from the trauma that tore them apart more than a quarter century ago-have recently begun focusing their efforts on understanding the impact the divorce had on their two children.

The parenting plan from hell

My brother and I spent most of our lives bounced around like a pinball, with my parents acting as the competing bumpers.

Even years after their divorce, my parents rarely spoke to each other, unless you count sending messages through the conduits of their offspring.

I admire the fact they even achieved a compromise in their parenting plan, but the arrangement certainly left a mark on their children.

A judge actually approved this parenting plan: Every Monday and Wednesday with my mother. Then we'd pack up and go to my father's house on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The two alternated Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, as well as major holidays.

The Christmas holidays were especially taxing.

Christmas Eve began with a trip to my stepmother's parents' house for lunch; mid-afternoon we spent with my mother's grandparents, and then we finished out the evening with an encore visit to my dad's parents' house.

Every year on Christmas morning, my brother and I would wake up and open gifts at a different parent's house, eat breakfast, and be promptly whisked away by the other parent to repeat the process. That evening we visited my mother's parents' house. The next day, my mom and stepfather would load us in the car for a two-hour drive to his sister's.

Yes, really.

As a child, I would brag to my peers about opening twice the number of gifts; but as an adult, I mostly remember the guilt I felt for the parent forced by this arrangement to spend less time with us. As difficult as you might find it to believe, my brother and I-even as wide-eyed kids charged with task of opening gifts for most of 72 hours-often had a hard time maintaining our enthusiasm.

Only the physical baggage we acquired moving from house to house trumped the emotional baggage my brother and I packed away from this process.

My first holiday with my fianc/'s family helped me slowly unravel the twisted knot of Christmas anxiety that had built up over my childhood.

For most of the past six years, she and I have hopped the train in Seattle and enjoyed a relaxing trip back to her hometown in Montana. Once we arrived, the family spent almost the entire time parked in front of the Christmas tree and fireplace.

From the very beginning, I considered this arrangement an incredibly refreshing alternative to the holidays of my youth.

Learning from others' (and my) mistakes

Don't get me wrong. I feel grateful for the life my parents created for my brother and me.

And I certainly don't deny that many broken homes have put children in considerably worse circumstances than the two loving environments we shared growing up.

But I must admit-just as my brother will, too, eventually-that my parents' relationship gave us a less-than-rosy opinion of the institution of marriage.

After six years enjoying the love of a remarkable woman, however, I think I've finally broken the mold I cast for myself.

I don't consider myself qualified to give advice, but if you've made it this far through this column-and you're agreeable to receiving tips on marriage from an unmarried person-I'll share with you what I've learned throughout this process.

1. If your parents' failed at their marriage doesn't mean you will, too. It takes a great deal of confidence to believe you won't make the same mistakes they did. A lack of honesty caused my parents' relationship to crumble, so I've sworn to make openness the backbone of mine.

2. Wait until you're ready.I have no intention of criticizing those who married early, if it works for them. I'm pushing 30, and I'm glad I spent most of my teens and twenties learning about myself, soaking up adventure, failing at other relationships, and keeping my eyes open for the partner who never made me feel like I was settling for "good enough."

3. Get to know the person you're marrying. This piece of advice may seem obvious, but I consider it fundamental in building a lasting relationship. I've known my fianc/ for more than six years. We've lived together for almost that entire time. We've bought a house and a car together, and we've also faced our share of criticism for those decisions. But those choices have helped us moved forward in confidence. After this much time sharing a life, I feel like we won't experience too many surprises other than the pleasant ones.

In April, when my parents decided to throw us an engagement party-together!-my brother and I both panicked at the thought of the worlds we've kept separated for so many years coming together.

Alex and I survived, and so did my mom and dad.

The journey that culminates in next week's celebration hasn't been an easy one for me.

The ceremony will serve not only as a union of two people in love, but a funeral for self-doubt, apprehension, and fear.

When I see them there at my wedding, together, I know they'll be filled with happiness that their son found a partner to share his life; and relief that their relationship didn't prevent him from ever doing so.

I say, let the healing begin.