Granted, we’ve seen an up-tick in states recognizing gay marriage. Now, New Hampshire is climbing on board, pending a signature from the governor. But I have to wonder where this train is going and where it will end up. If it got derailed in California, is there any hope left? If the most notoriously liberal state in the country denied that basic right to “other than heterosexual”, is there hope?
Yes, there is. And it comes from places that no one in the media might expect.
Iowa’s Supreme Court declared the ban on same-sex marriage unconstitutional with little fanfare and no media events. They issued a ruling and let the media marvel at how backwards Iowa had moved into the modern age. That was before they looked at Iowa’s history.
Turns out it’s one of the most progressive states historically when it comes to social justice. They have been about 100 years ahead of the rest of the country on racial issues. They were enforcing the equal protection clause of the Constitution long before LBJ was even born. They recognized women’s rights almost a century before bra’s started getting burned.
I didn’t realize that Iowa was such a socially progressive state until all this. And they’ve done little to call attention to it, in fact. Not because they don’t want to be the mecca for gay weddings (everybody needs a new income stream these days), but because that’s just not their style.
They’ve never crowed about being progressive. They just like the least amount of interference in their lives that they can get. The don’t want anyone telling them how to live or with whom or what happens when the lights go out. Or stay on, as the case may be.
From the epitome of rural middle-America, we have a landmark ruling that no one who lives there made much of fuss about.
I’m not going to live in Iowa, but that’s mainly because my job is here and it would be a hell of a commute. Also, it gets too cold up there.
Still, developments there hearten me.
As does the change in attitude of my own mother, who is definitely not from Iowa. I don’t think she’s ever been there, as a matter of fact. But she’s learned that my relationship is as valid as any relationship between one man and one woman.
She wouldn’t probably endorse a gay marriage initiative in her state, but Tennessee has long been slow on the social justice front. And so has Texas, where I live, for that matter.
And in case anyone’s wondering, we define a marriage as a committed relationship between a man and a man. No third parties are invited to the party.
Regardless of obstacles, I hold on to hope that we will one day be recognized as a sanctioned couple. And I’m not sure why it’s so important. It may just be that I’m getting old and want some recognition from the government of what everyone else seems to be okay with.
By and large, nobody seems to care but legislators and judges.
29 April 2009
25 April 2009
Grand
Since the day Daddy died almost two years ago, my mother and I have conducted one of the richest, on-going conversations I’ve ever had. We didn’t talk much before then, and, when we did, about nothing more important than the weather. She didn’t like that I was gay, and I didn’t like that she had a problem with it.
So we talked about the weather. It was the only safe subject.
She called tonight and took up where we left off last time.
My niece’s wedding is on track, except for the details. They have a date and a place, but not much else. Mama’s waiting on colors before she does anything. (Why having everything perfectly color-coordinated baffles me, but it’s part of the ritual of weddings.) My little sister kicked her useless boyfriend out, finally. After too, too long. My older sister is still trying to close on a house that didn’t appraise, but probably should have.
Mama and I talked for about an hour about some things trivial and others of gravitas. It was part of the on-going conversation we began when she told me the day Daddy died that “some things just don’t matter.”
We have both grown because of that simple statement. It empowered me to be who I am and allowed her to accept that reality. She saw that I was no different than her. She saw that death hurts and that we shared a common love: Daddy.
Out of death came a phoenix. It’s nothing short of remarkable.
We needed each other. And still do. Out of the ashes, a deeper, richer relationship grew into a conversation that just keeps going on.
In spite of pain and grief and recriminations and plain old stubbornness, something new has blossomed. Actually, something old has been reborn.
I never stopped loving her, even though she didn’t like much about my life since I told her I was gay. And I resented her for not accepting it.
I don’t know if that has passed for all time, but I know that things are better. Better because we talk. There was a long period where we didn’t. I’m glad it’s over and hope it stays that way.
I don’t think either of us really wanted to talk to the other for a while. We were both too mule-headed about something that, in the end, doesn’t really matter. What matters is that we lost years of that long conversation.
There’s nothing I can do about that. Those years are gone and will never come back. I lost them, and she did, too. We will never get them back, either one of us.
We lost too many years over what was essentially unimportant. I've said for the better part of two decades that my sexual orientation is one of the least important and most irrelevant things about me.
I am a gay man. I am gay; I am a man. The latter always takes precedence over the former.
I'm finally knocking that into peoples' heads.
The most important thing in my life tonight is that my hip is killing me. It is not playing well with gravity, and hasn't been for the better part of a week. After that, we have a storm moving in that will hit about the time I get to sleep. And then, there'll be no sleep.
Still, the laundry's done and the dishwasher is ready for the week to come. Two odious chores down, and a storm to go.
That's the most important thing about me: just living and taking care of things like any other person would.
Now my niece is getting married. And with all weddings comes the prospect of new life. Me and Mama haven’t talked about that part yet, but we’ll get around to it. She’ll be a great-grandmother and I’ll be a grand uncle.
Finally, officially, grand at last. It’s every old queen’s wet dream.
So we talked about the weather. It was the only safe subject.
She called tonight and took up where we left off last time.
My niece’s wedding is on track, except for the details. They have a date and a place, but not much else. Mama’s waiting on colors before she does anything. (Why having everything perfectly color-coordinated baffles me, but it’s part of the ritual of weddings.) My little sister kicked her useless boyfriend out, finally. After too, too long. My older sister is still trying to close on a house that didn’t appraise, but probably should have.
Mama and I talked for about an hour about some things trivial and others of gravitas. It was part of the on-going conversation we began when she told me the day Daddy died that “some things just don’t matter.”
We have both grown because of that simple statement. It empowered me to be who I am and allowed her to accept that reality. She saw that I was no different than her. She saw that death hurts and that we shared a common love: Daddy.
Out of death came a phoenix. It’s nothing short of remarkable.
We needed each other. And still do. Out of the ashes, a deeper, richer relationship grew into a conversation that just keeps going on.
In spite of pain and grief and recriminations and plain old stubbornness, something new has blossomed. Actually, something old has been reborn.
I never stopped loving her, even though she didn’t like much about my life since I told her I was gay. And I resented her for not accepting it.
I don’t know if that has passed for all time, but I know that things are better. Better because we talk. There was a long period where we didn’t. I’m glad it’s over and hope it stays that way.
I don’t think either of us really wanted to talk to the other for a while. We were both too mule-headed about something that, in the end, doesn’t really matter. What matters is that we lost years of that long conversation.
There’s nothing I can do about that. Those years are gone and will never come back. I lost them, and she did, too. We will never get them back, either one of us.
We lost too many years over what was essentially unimportant. I've said for the better part of two decades that my sexual orientation is one of the least important and most irrelevant things about me.
I am a gay man. I am gay; I am a man. The latter always takes precedence over the former.
I'm finally knocking that into peoples' heads.
The most important thing in my life tonight is that my hip is killing me. It is not playing well with gravity, and hasn't been for the better part of a week. After that, we have a storm moving in that will hit about the time I get to sleep. And then, there'll be no sleep.
Still, the laundry's done and the dishwasher is ready for the week to come. Two odious chores down, and a storm to go.
That's the most important thing about me: just living and taking care of things like any other person would.
Now my niece is getting married. And with all weddings comes the prospect of new life. Me and Mama haven’t talked about that part yet, but we’ll get around to it. She’ll be a great-grandmother and I’ll be a grand uncle.
Finally, officially, grand at last. It’s every old queen’s wet dream.
22 April 2009
So Sad
I'm sad tonight for no reason I can isolate. Not upset or angry or even jaded. Just sad.
Maybe it's the impending trip to Tennessee, where my mother and I will spend too much time talking about Daddy. We always seem to end up there. She will tell me again how he's the only man she ever really dated, and I will tell her that he was the only daddy I ever had. It's become a ritual that helps us put him into a cubbyhole somewhere that we can deal with more easily.
And it's not that I mind talking. It's good for the soul. It's the primary way, after all, that we work through our grief. If we choose to confront it head-on, that is.
Some don't. They either deny it and won't talk or try to use it as a manipulative tool to further their own agendas. And we have some of all that going on in our family.
I think I'm sad mainly because I miss Daddy. But I'm also sad about the ways that others have responded to his death. Almost two years after the fact, some are in denial and others are using it as a crutch to prop up what boils down to a simple lack of will to move beyond it.
I've told many people that I will never get over Daddy's death any more than I will get over the death of others that I loved who died before him.
We do not get over death; we only move beyond.
My first partner died almost a decade and a half ago and, although I have been with Shannon for 9 years and love him dearly, the void that his untimely departure created remains as real as it ever was.
When I go home, the house will feel empty without Daddy. It did the night we came home from the hospital and he came back in a hearse, and it has ever since. Something always seems to be missing.
When I'm there, I'll still expect him to come in the back door and sit down at the kitchen table or in his favorite chair in the living room. But he won't. And when he doesn't, I'll feel his absence all the more acutely.
Maybe that's why I'm sad, or maybe it's something else. All I know is that I feel sad.
So sad.
Maybe it's the impending trip to Tennessee, where my mother and I will spend too much time talking about Daddy. We always seem to end up there. She will tell me again how he's the only man she ever really dated, and I will tell her that he was the only daddy I ever had. It's become a ritual that helps us put him into a cubbyhole somewhere that we can deal with more easily.
And it's not that I mind talking. It's good for the soul. It's the primary way, after all, that we work through our grief. If we choose to confront it head-on, that is.
Some don't. They either deny it and won't talk or try to use it as a manipulative tool to further their own agendas. And we have some of all that going on in our family.
I think I'm sad mainly because I miss Daddy. But I'm also sad about the ways that others have responded to his death. Almost two years after the fact, some are in denial and others are using it as a crutch to prop up what boils down to a simple lack of will to move beyond it.
I've told many people that I will never get over Daddy's death any more than I will get over the death of others that I loved who died before him.
We do not get over death; we only move beyond.
My first partner died almost a decade and a half ago and, although I have been with Shannon for 9 years and love him dearly, the void that his untimely departure created remains as real as it ever was.
When I go home, the house will feel empty without Daddy. It did the night we came home from the hospital and he came back in a hearse, and it has ever since. Something always seems to be missing.
When I'm there, I'll still expect him to come in the back door and sit down at the kitchen table or in his favorite chair in the living room. But he won't. And when he doesn't, I'll feel his absence all the more acutely.
Maybe that's why I'm sad, or maybe it's something else. All I know is that I feel sad.
So sad.
17 April 2009
Rabble Rousing
I've been in the same job for nine years, and I generally like it. As with any work environment, there are people that I avoid because they annoy the hell out of me. And, granted, the management structure is both hazy and convoluted, and internal communication sometimes doesn't really exist. Also, the gossip network means I mark my words very carefully. (The up-side to the gossip is that, if I want to inject information about the company's financial position and know that it will be spread, I know exactly who to talk to.)
Still, my position insulates me from a lot of those the nuisances. I operate with a large degree of autonomy. No one looks over my shoulder: I look over theirs.
I enjoy a broad degree of authority over day-to-day operations, as well as the confidence of my boss to execute them with thougtfulness and competence. I have earned the respect and trust of my colleagues. And I constantly learn. Every day presents a new challenge and continues to educate me.
With all that said, one thing has stuck in my craw for most of the time I've worked there: domestic partner benefits. Or, rather, the lack thereof.
The company reviews the policy manual every year about this time, and several times I've drafted a proposed change that would extend basic benefits to those of us that can't marry. But I always chickened out at the last minute because I didn't want to draw undue attention to my sexual orientation or come off as a radical homo. It's probably the least important thing about me, and I hesitate to draw attention to it in such a public manner.
In the nine years I've been there, I've never told a single person that I'm gay. They've just assumed it. I talk about my partner the same way they talk about their spouses. He's chronically ill, and they always want to know how he's doing. It's a very gay-friendly workplace.
Except for the benefits.
I was going to chicken out again, most likely, when a co-worker approached me yesterday about domestic partner benefits. She and her boyfriend have been together for 6 years, and for whatever reason (I didn't ask), they have chosen not to marry. She asked me what I thought about the issue, and I told her that I already had a letter prepared.
We both agreed that having to use vacation time to take care of a partner instead being able to use sick time is fundamentally unfair. Even more aggregious: having to take vacation time to potentially attend a funeral for a partner (married people get 3 days).
I told her that I used about half of my vacation time every year (some years more) taking care of Shannon's medical care. That sitting by a bedside waiting for someone to become sane enough to know who you are and he is is no vacation. That spending hours on the road and hours more in a waiting room while someone has out-patient surgery isn't one, either.
I was the ally she needed, and she was the ally I needed to work up the nerve to raise the issue. She'd already sent her two cents worth in, so I got the huevos together to follow her lead.
I don't know what the outcome will be, but at least I've said my peace.
I can sleep better knowing that I've done my best. I've raised the issue, and they can do what they will with it. Finally.
If the Board doesn't move forward, I'll probably keep raising the issue again and again until they do. The first time is the hardest. The first time is always the hardest.
Now that I've found my huevos, I'm hoping to make it just about impossible for them to not take that leap into the 21st century.
I can be a total wuss sometimes, and I know that all too well. But saying something once that some one else either doesn't want to hear or deal with makes it easier to say again.
I said it, and it didn't kill me or get me fired. I'm feeling empowered.
Maybe I am a confused lesbian with a penis, after all.
We won't go there. I'm quite sure I'm not a lesbian or confused. I know what rocks my world, and it doesn't have a vagina.
Let us just say that my last attempt to have sex with a woman went poorly. I never knew that I could put my clothes back on so quickly.
Lesbians, I don't think, though, should have the market for activism cornered.
And that's not to say that I see myself as any sort of "activist". I'm more just mouthy. And it's a characteristic that I've had to watch over closely and reel in when I'm tempted to go over the top.
We will get domestic partner benefits at some point. The only question is when. I plan to make it a thorn in their side until they approve them. The issue is out there, floating around somewhere, but I intend to keep coming back to it now that I finally got around to getting to it.
It will happen. Perhaps not this year, but maybe next, or the next. Raising the issue has made me loathe to drop it.
I view it as a question of social justice. It's what we used to call "doing the right thing." Taking care of those that, quite literally, take care of you.
I concede that there are no easy answers. Defining domestic partners and doing so in compliance with labor laws is a gray area.
But those are the questions that need the most attention. They are the ones that cry out for attention, like a neglected child.
And this particular child has been neglected for far too long.
There are plenty of ways to establish domestic partner status: joint bank accounts, joint leases or mortgages, beneficiary status for insurance and beneficiary status for retirement accounts. Require documentation of any 3 of the five above, and you have a pretty clear indication of the nature of the relationship.
It's not that difficult.
So I'll go on rousing the rabble until I get what I really want: taking sick time to take care of a chronically ill partner. Having to take it as vacation time to do so is absolutely galling.
It will change. Perhaps not this year, but maybe next year or the next. But it will.
It's not an issue I'm willing to lay aside. And I'm willing to do what it takes to get things changed.
I didn't really know how angry I was about the whole issue until I sat down and looked at how many vacation hours I have taken while taking care of Shannon as opposed to the number I've taken to take care of me. The answer is surprisingly few to take care of me.
All I can say is that I'm on the losing side of the equation as it currently exits.
I don't care about the hours so much as recognition of the validity of my relationship. Simply that we are a family, although without government sanction. Any number of people live as families without government sanction, but it makes their families no less real.
I want the same. Nothing more, nothing less.
It won't happen any time soon, but it should.
Still, my position insulates me from a lot of those the nuisances. I operate with a large degree of autonomy. No one looks over my shoulder: I look over theirs.
I enjoy a broad degree of authority over day-to-day operations, as well as the confidence of my boss to execute them with thougtfulness and competence. I have earned the respect and trust of my colleagues. And I constantly learn. Every day presents a new challenge and continues to educate me.
With all that said, one thing has stuck in my craw for most of the time I've worked there: domestic partner benefits. Or, rather, the lack thereof.
The company reviews the policy manual every year about this time, and several times I've drafted a proposed change that would extend basic benefits to those of us that can't marry. But I always chickened out at the last minute because I didn't want to draw undue attention to my sexual orientation or come off as a radical homo. It's probably the least important thing about me, and I hesitate to draw attention to it in such a public manner.
In the nine years I've been there, I've never told a single person that I'm gay. They've just assumed it. I talk about my partner the same way they talk about their spouses. He's chronically ill, and they always want to know how he's doing. It's a very gay-friendly workplace.
Except for the benefits.
I was going to chicken out again, most likely, when a co-worker approached me yesterday about domestic partner benefits. She and her boyfriend have been together for 6 years, and for whatever reason (I didn't ask), they have chosen not to marry. She asked me what I thought about the issue, and I told her that I already had a letter prepared.
We both agreed that having to use vacation time to take care of a partner instead being able to use sick time is fundamentally unfair. Even more aggregious: having to take vacation time to potentially attend a funeral for a partner (married people get 3 days).
I told her that I used about half of my vacation time every year (some years more) taking care of Shannon's medical care. That sitting by a bedside waiting for someone to become sane enough to know who you are and he is is no vacation. That spending hours on the road and hours more in a waiting room while someone has out-patient surgery isn't one, either.
I was the ally she needed, and she was the ally I needed to work up the nerve to raise the issue. She'd already sent her two cents worth in, so I got the huevos together to follow her lead.
I don't know what the outcome will be, but at least I've said my peace.
I can sleep better knowing that I've done my best. I've raised the issue, and they can do what they will with it. Finally.
If the Board doesn't move forward, I'll probably keep raising the issue again and again until they do. The first time is the hardest. The first time is always the hardest.
Now that I've found my huevos, I'm hoping to make it just about impossible for them to not take that leap into the 21st century.
I can be a total wuss sometimes, and I know that all too well. But saying something once that some one else either doesn't want to hear or deal with makes it easier to say again.
I said it, and it didn't kill me or get me fired. I'm feeling empowered.
Maybe I am a confused lesbian with a penis, after all.
We won't go there. I'm quite sure I'm not a lesbian or confused. I know what rocks my world, and it doesn't have a vagina.
Let us just say that my last attempt to have sex with a woman went poorly. I never knew that I could put my clothes back on so quickly.
Lesbians, I don't think, though, should have the market for activism cornered.
And that's not to say that I see myself as any sort of "activist". I'm more just mouthy. And it's a characteristic that I've had to watch over closely and reel in when I'm tempted to go over the top.
We will get domestic partner benefits at some point. The only question is when. I plan to make it a thorn in their side until they approve them. The issue is out there, floating around somewhere, but I intend to keep coming back to it now that I finally got around to getting to it.
It will happen. Perhaps not this year, but maybe next, or the next. Raising the issue has made me loathe to drop it.
I view it as a question of social justice. It's what we used to call "doing the right thing." Taking care of those that, quite literally, take care of you.
I concede that there are no easy answers. Defining domestic partners and doing so in compliance with labor laws is a gray area.
But those are the questions that need the most attention. They are the ones that cry out for attention, like a neglected child.
And this particular child has been neglected for far too long.
There are plenty of ways to establish domestic partner status: joint bank accounts, joint leases or mortgages, beneficiary status for insurance and beneficiary status for retirement accounts. Require documentation of any 3 of the five above, and you have a pretty clear indication of the nature of the relationship.
It's not that difficult.
So I'll go on rousing the rabble until I get what I really want: taking sick time to take care of a chronically ill partner. Having to take it as vacation time to do so is absolutely galling.
It will change. Perhaps not this year, but maybe next year or the next. But it will.
It's not an issue I'm willing to lay aside. And I'm willing to do what it takes to get things changed.
I didn't really know how angry I was about the whole issue until I sat down and looked at how many vacation hours I have taken while taking care of Shannon as opposed to the number I've taken to take care of me. The answer is surprisingly few to take care of me.
All I can say is that I'm on the losing side of the equation as it currently exits.
I don't care about the hours so much as recognition of the validity of my relationship. Simply that we are a family, although without government sanction. Any number of people live as families without government sanction, but it makes their families no less real.
I want the same. Nothing more, nothing less.
It won't happen any time soon, but it should.
03 April 2009
The Supremes
The Iowa Supreme Court today struck down a ban on gay marriages in the state, finding that the legislative ban violates the equal protection clause of the Constitution. According to a spokesman for Governor Jon Huntsman, he “supports equal rights for all people” but doesn’t support extending the right (or rite) of marriage to gay couples. Apparently, some people are more equal than others.
Just about every person who will be running for elected office in the next 4 years anywhere is calling for a constitutional amendment in Iowa that circumvents the high court’s decision, and some of them don’t even live in Iowa. The 4 year period is important, because that’s the minimum length of time it takes to amend the constitution in Iowa. 2 consecutive biennial legislatures must ratify the amendment before it is even put to a public vote.
A lot can happen in 4 years. I didn’t believe 4 years ago, for instance, that a black man would or could be elected President in my lifetime, and certainly not by such a wide margin. 9.51%, to be exact. But the number of bigots shrinks with each generation as our country becomes more multi-cultural.
Granted, the bigots that we still harbor have become increasingly vocal, most likely because they now comprise the minority and feel threatened. Plus, they need scapegoats to explain what’s wrong in their lives. And some of them simply don’t like change of any sort.
Many of them have shifted from racial hatred to demonizing homosexuals because, once again, being on the fringe, they are increasingly in the minority who believe it's any of their business. Without any evidence to support it other than “I believe”, they seek to relegate gay people to a less-than-equal status. No marriage. No adoption. No recognition of a family structure.
Apparently, recognizing “equal” as equal will cause the sky to implode on us and lead to the death of the American family as a social structure. Never mind that we have millions of people living as families without any recognition or rights that come with the status of a family. They are simply a “household”.
We don’t have kids, and neither of us wants them, but we’re still a family, just the two of us. With two cats. Granted, I’d never marry Shannon (strictly for financial reasons), but I’d like the opportunity and right to do so, should I change my mind.
It’s a matter of principle: “equal” should mean equal, whether the concept is convenient or not.
Time will tell the mood in 4 years. If the sky doesn’t fall, some people will realize that other family models have had little to no impact on the traditional family. More people will know people in non-traditional families. They will have friends that would be adversely affected by a change in the law.
Most people think I’m a pessimist, but I’m really the eternal optimist. I believe in the future, the seemingly impossible and likely improbable until the future gets here, and then I go on believing that the future is infinitely large. We will get to that shining city on a hill.
Whether it’s in my lifetime or not, I don’t know. I believe it will be. If life out-runs me, I know that equality is inevitable and will come when I’m gone.
Iowa may be the turning point (as it often in Presidential elections), and the case could very well end up in the US Supreme Court. If it doesn’t, one will soon.
I want to live to see it. Not because I intend to exercise that hypothetical right, but because I want the official recognition of my relationship. That it’s as valid and real as a heterosexual one.
Not that I need that approval in my own mind. It’s just galling to have it officially denied.
I live in a (very) liberal city where no one really cares about who I go to bed with at night or what his or her gender might be. When I was in the real estate business over a decade ago, I occasionally had clients ask to be shown property in the “gay neighborhood”. I had to tell them that we didn’t have one. The gay community here has never had a need to establish or flee to a pink ghetto.
We just live next door to everybody else, all across the city and the suburbs. Our gay neighborhood takes up about 5 counties.
But even in this very liberal, gay-friendly city, if I have to take time off work to take care of Shannon’s health needs, I have to take vacation time, while people who can get married can take it as sick time. Believe me, sitting up all night with someone who is going through psychotic hallucinations and then taking time to make sure he’s getting better is no vacation. Nor does driving him 90 miles away for surgery that requires a driver to get home.
Those inequities exist in a city that is largely gay friendly. But even the friendly folks don’t get the bigger picture: not officially recognizing same-sex relationships amounts to labeling some as less equal than others.
Given the hot button issue that it is, I don’t expect to see much change any time soon. Very few legislators in most states will risk supporting any legislation that recognizes same-sex relationships, muchless condones them. It would be the political equivalent of pardoning Osama bin’Laden.
And yet still I have faith. 4 years is a lifetime in politics. If Chicken Little doesn’t turn out to be right, people might just quit caring about the hypothetical threat to the American family and who other people sleep with every night after night.
If a black man can be elected President, anything’s possible. Maybe sooner than I think.
I'm stilling holding out.
Just about every person who will be running for elected office in the next 4 years anywhere is calling for a constitutional amendment in Iowa that circumvents the high court’s decision, and some of them don’t even live in Iowa. The 4 year period is important, because that’s the minimum length of time it takes to amend the constitution in Iowa. 2 consecutive biennial legislatures must ratify the amendment before it is even put to a public vote.
A lot can happen in 4 years. I didn’t believe 4 years ago, for instance, that a black man would or could be elected President in my lifetime, and certainly not by such a wide margin. 9.51%, to be exact. But the number of bigots shrinks with each generation as our country becomes more multi-cultural.
Granted, the bigots that we still harbor have become increasingly vocal, most likely because they now comprise the minority and feel threatened. Plus, they need scapegoats to explain what’s wrong in their lives. And some of them simply don’t like change of any sort.
Many of them have shifted from racial hatred to demonizing homosexuals because, once again, being on the fringe, they are increasingly in the minority who believe it's any of their business. Without any evidence to support it other than “I believe”, they seek to relegate gay people to a less-than-equal status. No marriage. No adoption. No recognition of a family structure.
Apparently, recognizing “equal” as equal will cause the sky to implode on us and lead to the death of the American family as a social structure. Never mind that we have millions of people living as families without any recognition or rights that come with the status of a family. They are simply a “household”.
We don’t have kids, and neither of us wants them, but we’re still a family, just the two of us. With two cats. Granted, I’d never marry Shannon (strictly for financial reasons), but I’d like the opportunity and right to do so, should I change my mind.
It’s a matter of principle: “equal” should mean equal, whether the concept is convenient or not.
Time will tell the mood in 4 years. If the sky doesn’t fall, some people will realize that other family models have had little to no impact on the traditional family. More people will know people in non-traditional families. They will have friends that would be adversely affected by a change in the law.
Most people think I’m a pessimist, but I’m really the eternal optimist. I believe in the future, the seemingly impossible and likely improbable until the future gets here, and then I go on believing that the future is infinitely large. We will get to that shining city on a hill.
Whether it’s in my lifetime or not, I don’t know. I believe it will be. If life out-runs me, I know that equality is inevitable and will come when I’m gone.
Iowa may be the turning point (as it often in Presidential elections), and the case could very well end up in the US Supreme Court. If it doesn’t, one will soon.
I want to live to see it. Not because I intend to exercise that hypothetical right, but because I want the official recognition of my relationship. That it’s as valid and real as a heterosexual one.
Not that I need that approval in my own mind. It’s just galling to have it officially denied.
I live in a (very) liberal city where no one really cares about who I go to bed with at night or what his or her gender might be. When I was in the real estate business over a decade ago, I occasionally had clients ask to be shown property in the “gay neighborhood”. I had to tell them that we didn’t have one. The gay community here has never had a need to establish or flee to a pink ghetto.
We just live next door to everybody else, all across the city and the suburbs. Our gay neighborhood takes up about 5 counties.
But even in this very liberal, gay-friendly city, if I have to take time off work to take care of Shannon’s health needs, I have to take vacation time, while people who can get married can take it as sick time. Believe me, sitting up all night with someone who is going through psychotic hallucinations and then taking time to make sure he’s getting better is no vacation. Nor does driving him 90 miles away for surgery that requires a driver to get home.
Those inequities exist in a city that is largely gay friendly. But even the friendly folks don’t get the bigger picture: not officially recognizing same-sex relationships amounts to labeling some as less equal than others.
Given the hot button issue that it is, I don’t expect to see much change any time soon. Very few legislators in most states will risk supporting any legislation that recognizes same-sex relationships, muchless condones them. It would be the political equivalent of pardoning Osama bin’Laden.
And yet still I have faith. 4 years is a lifetime in politics. If Chicken Little doesn’t turn out to be right, people might just quit caring about the hypothetical threat to the American family and who other people sleep with every night after night.
If a black man can be elected President, anything’s possible. Maybe sooner than I think.
I'm stilling holding out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)