Today my brother and I went down to the Clerk of Court’s office to celebrate those couples who were lining up to get marriage certificates.
We even got to be witnesses for one couple who were my age and had been together 13 years!
People often are curious why I care so much about marriage equality…some so much so they feel it appropriate to come right out and ask if I’m gay as if that’s the only legitimate reason to care.
In light of today’s historical significance, I thought it an appropriate time to share my story and explain why I chose and will continue to choose this fight.
It begins with the fact that both my parents were adopted. Even though they’ve long since divorced and each remarried, that shared history helped bring them together some 40-ish years ago. My dad was taken in by family members when his parents died too young; my mama was born to an unmarried teenager who left her in an orphanage until my grandparents took her home when she was six months old. Like many people who are adopted she struggled to understand abandonment; as such, she went out of her way to make it clear to my brother, sister and me how much we were loved. She never wanted us to doubt for a second how much we were wanted on this planet because that was a pain she knew all too well.
One day when I was still pretty young I overheard her saying to a girlfriend that she didn’t understand parents who disowned their children for being gay because to think any mom or dad would voluntarily sever ties with their offspring was unfathomable to her. Her biggest fear in the world was losing one of us to some freak disease, random kidnapping, or drowning after a fall down a well (thank you very much, Patty Hearst and Baby Jessica). Regardless, I remember being horrified and asking her what gay meant and why it was so bad that people would stop loving their kids over it. More importantly, I asked if I was gay would she stop loving me?!
The answer was a resounding and emphatic ‘NO.’ And because I adored her (and still do), if she didn’t understand why being gay was bad then dammit, neither did I. So all I really took away from that day was being ‘gay’ meant you were really, really happy and/or you love someone who looks more like you in a bathing suit than not.
She continued over the years to stress how much she would love us no matter what and would even gently remind us as we approached those awkward teenage years that it was safe to ‘come out’ if we needed to. I’ll never forget my senior year of college her telling me the only reason she had ever feared any of us being gay was because she knew how cruel society could be to those who are different. Growing up when she did, race was still very much an issue and kids were mean if you were adopted because it meant your heritage was unknown.
At work I see and hear about kids whose parents don’t love them…in fact, some kids have no parents at all and others have parents who hurt them…a lot. I’ve seen the ripple effect that has on families and society. Pain and shame are powerful forces which is why I’m so grateful I was raised in a house full of love and it kills me that ANYONE thinks they aren’t wanted or don’t belong on this planet.
When you think about it, not much has changed because kids today can still be mean if you’re different…and so can adults. The only way that ever changes is if more of us make a conscious decision to set a better example. That means choosing love over hate. Tolerance over mockery. Radical acceptance over xenophobia.
Three decades later I still don’t quite get why LOVE is ever a bad thing. But I do know that today more than ever I am really, really happy. So Mama, maybe I am a little gay after all.
