Brave new nuptials

1. Mark and Paula
"It's okay, we can try again next year," Paula choked back her tears as she reached her hand out for Mark's. 

"But I was certain that we'd pass this year.  I did everything right.  I stopped drinking tea.  I watched all of the Superbowl.  I even took those Saw Palmetto extract pills." I don't know if I can go through this again." He pulled his hand away from Paula's.

"How far off were you?"

"The counts were 22% below what they consider fertile.  Last time we were at 19% below, so we're getting better.  Just not good enough."

He threw down the official report and a stack of papers from the Office of Marriage Defense & Protection.  Across the top of the report in large red letters were the words, DENIED: INSUFFICIENT PROCREATIVE CAPACITY.

"You should go find someone who can actually marry you," he said in a bitter tone.

As he threw the report on the table, a pamphlet slipped out of the pile entitled, "Not Unlike Marriage, Only For You: A Guide to Civil Unions."

"What's that?" Paula asked.

"Just a pamphlet.  They always include it with the test results."

"Are you actually thinking about a civil union?  What would our families think?"


2. Olivia and Charles

At 62, Olivia had given up on finding love again.  She had tons of friends, a job that tapped her creative passions, and a wonderful home overlooking Raven's Gulch in an unincorporated part of the county that had yet to be over-run by MacMansions and Lexuses.  She took the Zumba class at the local community center on a whim and a recommendation from her office mate Marina who guaranteed to her that there was no better way to lose weight.  She had no idea that Zumba would be her gateway to love and romance.

At 61, Charles had recently lost his wife Allie after a mercifully quick but devastating bout of pancreatic cancer.  He felt he had barely had a chance to begin to mourn when his daughter Grace started insisting that he start "getting out there more." In fact, more than seven months had passed and Charles had rarely left his home, a condo in town that he and Allie had bought to "downscale" their life in anticipation of their retirement.  He spent most of his days reading, tracking his investments on-line, or tinkering with minor home improvement projects. Grace missed her mother, but she also missed her father.  The shut-in he had become was a man she did not know nor like. 

One drizzly Spring morning, Grace parked outside Charles' condo and beeped the horn of her Prius.  He trotted out, wearing new cross-trainers, stylish long-ish shorts, and a navy blue long sleeve t-shirt that fell perfectly on his 6'3 frame.  "Ready for Zumba?" Grace asked, a smile beaming across her face. 

In fact, he was not ready for Zumba.  Ten minutes into the class, he felt a twinge of pain in his lower back, three minutes later, the twinge was a full spasm and he was flat on his back.  Grace failed to notice her fallen father as she Zumba'd away, at the front of the class.  Olivia, on the other hand, stopped her work out, approached Charles's writhing body, and asked if he needed assistance.

From that moment, Olivia and Charles never looked back.  A sports drink break in the community center lounge turned into coffee which turned into a long walk which turned into dinner at Olivia's house which turned into a two day sleep over.  

Three months later, on a cloudless Summer morning, Charles brought Olivia her morning coffee and her I-Pad.  Olivia smiled, took a sip of coffee, and reached for her I-pad.  He could barely maintain his composure as he waited for her to open the tablet and start checking her NY Times online app, her typical morning routine. When she hit the NYT icon, the screen changed to kaleidoscope of white roses, with a photo of Charles in the center, on bended knee and a cartoon bubble stating, "Will you register as my domestic partner?"


3. Peter and Tod

"I had an idea last night.  What if instead of filing our fake federal return for state filing purposes as married filing separately, we do the fake federal return as married filing jointly?" Peter asked enthusiastically.

"What about trying the Community Property return this year?  I think the IRS wants us to do that since we are a gay married couple live in a community property state." Tod replied.

"Screw that.  We tried it last year and our taxes went up.  If the federal government doesn't recognize our marriage in other ways, why would assert our marriage only to penalize our ourselves? " Peter replied emphatically.

"Not to change the subject, but when combing through our shoebox of receipts and records I noticed that the San Francisco tax bill is just in your name.  Do you think the title is wrong?"

"It shouldn't be, but maybe they messed it up.  We should check that out.  Otherwise you'd face a huge hassle and a tax bill if I died before you."

"How is that possible, we're married?" now Tod was emphatic.

"Not in the eyes of the Federal government. As far as the IRS is concerned, you and I are unrelated people who happen to own some property together."

"As long as we're on this, what happens if one of us gets hospitalized when we're in a state that doesn't recognize our marriage?  Like Wisconsin, where we go once a year?"

"That's why we have those medical powers of attorney documents.  Not sure where they are, but we should probably travel with them.  Especially before we go to New Orleans next month."

"What would make all of this absurdity go away?" Tod braced himself for the delight of one of Peter's legal soliloquies.

"It's easy.  Repeal DOMA.  Enforce full faith and credit.  Done."

Sticks and stones...

Fag
I knew it when I wanted to try on that beaded  necklace.  The coral and brass strand that Mom wore with those orange hostess pajamas.

Fag
Why did Ernie and Bert interest me almost as much as Bob, the handsome non-muppet with the engaging smile and sweet singing voice?

Fag
A Barbie with a G.I. Joe head hanging out in the Malibu town home while a G.I. Joe with long flowing locks explored the backyard hedges in army fatigues.

Fag
Sitting on the toilet in my parent's bathroom watching my mother's nightly ritual of covering her face with Noxzema.  Time that was ours.

Fag
A snapshot of my 16th birthday with my mouth agape and my mask slipped off by the thrill and terror of ten friends hiding in the den.

Fag
I'm helping Mom distribute parting gifts of bubbles to her pre-school students and I so very much want to keep one for myself.

Fag
I have no idea how to hold this hammer, saw that 2x4 by hand, or apply wood glue to the joint.

Fag
Better students are sitting at their desks working on their assignments, said Mr. V.  Note to self, don't be like him.  Everyone knows what he is.

Fag
Manny wants to take me surfing in Santa Cruz.  Charlie is going too.  I'm torn.  If I hang out with Manny will I be guilty by association?  If I hang out with Charlie will I get to smell his hair?

Fag
I'm trying to write the pain away.  De-fang the word.  Repeat it enough so that it becomes nothing more than a syllable.

Fag
The NPR reporter sticks a microphone in a homophobe's face and let's her repeat the word three, four, maybe five times.  Balanced reporting?  Exposing the evil of the opposition? Doesn't really matter.

Fag
The word still stings.  Cuts me once, twice, three times, then twice more.  I'm bruised.  I'm bleeding.  I'm angry.  I'm enraged.

Fag
I'm weak.  I'm strong.  I'm fighting back.  I'm fighting myself.  I'm brought to my knees.  I'm standing tall.  I'm a

Fag.

A Comment to NPR about Broadcasting Homophobes

In covering the demonstrations outside the Supreme Court yesterday, I was shocked and dismayed that the reporter -- and her editors -- felt it appropriate to broadcast an opponent of marriage equality who repeatedly used the word "fag" in her comments.  While I understand the journalist's interest in presenting a full picture of the demonstrations, I imagine she could have generated plenty of comments from opponents of marriage equality from people who are not compelled to use the epithet "fag." Can you imagine broadcasting an opponent of Affirmative Action using the "N-word?"  Can you imagine broadcasting a sexist's use of the C-word?  The word fag is no less repulsive.  It is no less violent. 

Yesterday, the reporter almost seemed to chuckle at the animosity expressed between the marriage equality opponent and the proponent.  She almost seemed to bait the opponent into using the word again, and again.  Perhaps her motivation was to expose the offensive nature of the opponent's perspective, but that motivation was well-hidden. 

As the nation navigates the road towards marriage equality, maintaining civil discourse will be more crucial than ever.  The majority of Americans who now support marriage equality will only grow in numbers.  Those who have an irrational fear of marriage equality will likely become more angry, defensive, and hateful in their rhetoric.  Moving those opponents to move beyond epithets to civil arguments is critically important.  As we saw at the court yesterday -- and in the original Prop 8 trial -- there is no rational basis for their opposition to marriage equality other than the irrational bias we call homophobia. Ultimately, their arguments collapse on themselves, or suggest that we reserve marriage only for those who can prove fertility or intent to raise children.

Giving voice to their epithets may expose their homophobia, but it also legitimates it.  The word fag is used by bullies in elementary schools and street thugs who threaten and commit real violence.  It does not belong on NPR without filter or comment.