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.