Tag: gay marriage

I have been outed!

My partner, Ron, and I solidified our relationship on May 1st, entering into a civil union within hours after Colorado enacted them. In preparation for the historical event, we had our tuxedos dry cleaned, purchased new wristwatches to signal a new dawning, and planned a private celebration. I found myself strangely calm, that is until hours before the ceremony when I couldn’t cinch my cummerbund or tie my shoelaces. Suddenly, I understood why some people metamorphose into terrors just before their big day. It was becoming real. After all, I was committing to one man for a continued lifetime of discoveries…in real time.

Upon been ushered into the Wellington Webb Building, I inexplicably unleashed all fears, all doubts, all anxieties, and I became child-like with anticipation. Dignitaries congratulated the couples; families and supporters whooped it up; even tired agents at the Clerk and Recorder’s Office maintained genuine smiles of inclusiveness, conveying this was our day to declare that we in the LGBT community were taking another step closer toward full-fledged citizenship. I realized this was a victory in spite of it not offering full marriage rights.

Being so dapper, and hopefully so cute, every reporter wanted to photograph and interview us. Though we have never been in the closet, admittedly neither have we worn our relationship on our sleeves. That morning, we kicked the closet door open and agreed to every photograph, every interview. Only one reporter was ingenuous, an interviewer who forgot to mention she represented a conservative religious publication. Initially, her questions were innocent enough, perhaps to lull us into complacency. However, my suspicions were aroused when she queried us about whether the legalization of civil unions could in time lead to marital contracts by blood relatives or parties of three or more, arguments that have been used by homophobic institutions to prevent our forming legal families. I caught a whiff of the dankness from the rock from which she had crawled. Upon learning of the organization she represented, I unleashed a diatribe of impunities, informing her in no uncertain terms that as a former believer, I had long ago rejected its patriarchal, sanctimonious, we-are-the-chosen-of-God attitudes. To her credit she stayed in place as I defined the difference between those of us who embrace our spirituality and those of her belief who cater to their religiosity. I informed her that my unconditionally-loving God, was present and, no doubt, was at that moment dancing an Irish jig to a Mexican marimba band while singing in key of his sons and daughters whom He loved and validated and in whom He was well-pleased. I felt victorious as she slithered away, although I doubt that anything within her doxology had changed. After all, oppressors never see themselves in need of transformation, never realizing that bigotry wrapped in prayer is still bigotry. It is for us, the former oppressed, to raise our voices and our fists and repudiate their canons. Only when they feel the ire and the tension of our convictions, do they relinquish their self-appointed power…and then only grudgingly.

When Ron and I were finally ushered into the magistrate’s arena, my stalwart, stoic bravado betrayed me as tears bubbled up in the corner of my eyes, and we solemnly repeated our vows and exchanged rings. It was finally real; it was now official. Reflecting over the last few days, I feel different. For some reason that I am only now beginning to understand, I feel so much closer to my beloved. Our union bonded us as though we were enveloped in a lotus of love.

The next morning I was awakened by the ringing of the phone. Groggily, I answered. Friends were calling to inform us that our pictures of the night before were posted on the internet. My initial reaction was one of nothing-good-can-come-from-this, much like Howard Brackett’s reaction when outed in the romantic comedy In and Out. Apparently, people we have influenced throughout the years were heralding our exodus from behind the closet door. We had been fully outed, no ifs, ands or buts. Therefore, we accepted the inevitable, recognizing that in spite of ourselves a new chapter was opening up in our lives. There was little to do except be grateful for an act of synchronicity. Anonymity was no longer an option. Thus, we accepted our outing with courage, knowing honesty and love can never be wrong.

A new sun has truly arisen, and something good has emerged from it. Therefore, let us live our lives as though we have been outed. Let us finally be free, free, free. Let the echoes resonate in every nook and cranny as we slam the closet door behind us and build a new foundation for a brave new world.

Cervantes wrote, “I know who I am and who I may choose to be.” In spite of my constant quest to live up to this proposition, I often falter. I am a man who has been defined as sensitive, intuitive, and altruistic, but I have also been defined as being too shy, too retrospective, too pragmatic. Something I know to be true. I am a survivor, a contradictory balance of a realist and a dreamer, and on occasions, quite charming. Nevertheless, I often ask Spirit to keep His arms around my shoulder and His hand over my mouth. My heroes range from Henry David Thoreau to Sheldon Cooper, and I always have time to watch Big Bang Theory or Under the Tuscan Sun. I am a pragmatic romantic and a consummate lover of ideas and words, nature and time. My beloved husband and our three rambunctious cocker spaniels are the souls that populate my heart. I could spend the rest of my life restoring our Victorian home, planting tomatoes, and lying under coconut palms on tropical sands. I believe in Spirit, and have zero tolerance for irresponsibility, victim’s mentalities, political and religious orthodoxy, and intentional cruelty. I am always on the look-out for friends, people who find that life just doesn’t get any better than breaking bread together and finding humor in the world around us.