On Marriage

I am not gay. But some of my best friends are.*
I was lucky enough to be born into what now strikes me as an unbelievably liberal family. My parents are both firm believers in the idea that you create your own family and so even though I am biologically related to an entire town in the flat Midwest, most of my "uncles" and "aunts" were actually my parents' friends from grad school. As a child, I didn't think it was odd that Uncle B and Uncle D and Aunt C and Uncle F and Uncle J and Uncle R were all scientists. More importantly, I didn't think it was odd that Uncle B and Uncle D lived together, and so did Uncle J and Uncle R. It wasn't until I was older, and slightly more indoctrinated into our contemporary** pop culture that it even struck me that one of these things was not like the other.

Of course, by then, I had my own problems. I was fourteen, and in love for the first time with my best male friend. We got on great, had painfully emotional, pseudointellectual conversations, and tried desperately to convince ourselves that our conversations were terribly grown up. We dated for a while, and discovered that sometimes good friends make terrible significant others. We broke up and I spent a good few months wishing him back. Then, he came out. The conversation took place (as so many of them did) over MSN messenger. "I'm gay," he told me. Those two words, then silence. I said the only thing that came to mind, the only thing that seemed even remotely right. "I know."

In a way, I did. At least, I'd suspected, even while we were dating. My parents certainly did. With those words, though, I was trying to say more than just, "I am cognizant of your homosexuality." I wanted to tell him, "I'm okay with this. You're my family. You will never change for me. I still love you." Lucky for me, he's always been good at understanding what I'm not saying.

It's six years later. We still live only fifteen minutes apart. We go food shopping together. He wants me to move into his house next year, once one of his roommates graduates. We talk online, still. We plan our perfect dates. We plan our perfect weddings. He wants kids. He's become much more serious, these past few months, much more adult. He's still my biggest cheerleader when things go wrong, and when they go right.

When I get married, whenever*** that is, he'll be standing next to me. My best man, my man of honor. Maybe he'll cry. I hope so. I am grateful that we live in a state where hopefully, maybe, I'll one day be able to do the same for him.

Everyone should have that right.

This post was written in response to the "Write to Marry" initiative. If you are registered to vote in California, vote 'no' on Proposition 8!

*Ha ha, see what I did there, rhetorics of privilege & exclusion?
** Read: homophobic and misogynistic
*** ...if...