The Road to 18,000 California Same-Sex Couples: Day 1

My three-year old twin boys had the following conversation the other day:

Brunette: Bert and Ernie are married?

Blond: Yeah. They are married.

Brunette: They are married because they are happy and love each other?

Blond: Yeah.

Man, I love them.

The idea that marriage is simply being happy and loving each other is pretty spot on. None of this special legal recognition business, no boring talk of tax status and inheritance, nothing more than an intimacy between two people, a happiness and respect. Just love.

This is how I always viewed marriage, even as a young adult. The big production part seemed unnecessary. So when I met my sweet lady, we just shacked up and decided to have kids. When we became domestic partners, it was about as romantic as renewing a driver's license. But we weren't doing it for the ceremony, we were doing it so that both our names could be on our kid's birth certificate. We had romance and joy and we shared that with our friends and family every day of the week. A wedding, we thought, just wasn't our style. Even if we could get married, meh, we'd skip the ceremony.

And then, one day, the California Supreme Court decided that marriage could be for us, if we chose it, and I cried reading the opinion. In the week leading up to those first ceremonies, my gal and I danced around it a bit. Was it worth it? It wouldn't mean any more rights than guaranteed by our domestic partnership. Shouldn't we wait for federal recognition? And although a valid California marriage would be nothing more than ceremony, we eventually came to see it as a way to support the court decision, to represent happy gay couples. It would be a form of love activism.

And so, two years ago today, on the very first day it was legal in the state of California, we put on fancy-ish clothes and went down to West Hollywood Park, which had been transformed for the day into a gay marriage bureau. We waited in line with 250 other couples, telling stories and enjoying early morning cupcakes courtesy of Mrs. Beasley's Bakery. Hershey Kisses abounded.

A few protesters showed up with obvious signs screaming about burning in hell and moral depravity and blah blah blah. A guy in a devil mask wearing cargo shorts and sneakers periodically jabbed a pitchfork in our general direction, but at least, true to the spirit of the day, his sign said, "Smile, Satan Loves You." No one paid the devil and his minion much attention and they faded away after an hour or so. Ironically, the heat got to him. Love outlasted hate. The metaphor wasn't lost on any of us.

Six hours or so later, there the two of us stood, in a make-shift cabana, in front of a recently deputized city commissioner, holding our kids and reciting those famous vows. We exchanged the rings we'd been wearing for years. At one point I noticed a crowd of about twenty strangers watching. I cried. My wife cried. The woman marrying us cried. Our children, miraculously, did not cry, but chirped happily. It was an astonishing moment.

There is a fundamental disagreement right now about how to preserve the sanctity of marriage. To some it depends upon gender stereotypes, the ability to reproduce, a few words in an ancient text. To others, it boils down to respect of all committed relationships, societal support, freedom and equality. Before we were officially married, we had already committed to a life together, already had kids, already become a family, right down to our shared last name. All those things that are, according to some, reliant upon legal marriage to successfully exist, we had. And those other things, like social acceptance, we still didn't really have after we got married. Because until the Federal government supports gay marriage, or every single state in the union does, we remain disregarded.

So if marriage isn't necessary to form a family, and it's not yet about equality, then what happened that day in California, and for the 142 days that followed, that felt so right for 36,000 people? I'm sure it was different for everyone. For me, on that day, it was about becoming part of the tradition. The repeat after me and with this ring and kiss the bride. It was about outlasting the protesters. It was about making a record of the enormity and importance of my loving union for the greater good. It was about having that very moment that all those Prop 8 proponents cherish so very much, yet worked so very hard to deny others.

And now, exactly two years later, they seek to render my marriage license invalid. It's an insult, sure, but guess what? Take it away. Take off your cross, does it mean you love Jesus any less? Of course not. But imagine if wearing that cross delegated you to second-class citizenship, left you vulnerable to government supported discrimination, meant you could lose your job, not get a credit card, subject you to scorn, ridicule and bodily harm. Would you still wear it? Being proud and open in the midst of degradation, that is the true measure of commitment. Marriage license or not, I'll still wear my ring.

Because I'm proud of my wife and my family and our sweet two-year anniversary, one of many days that mark the grandeur of our time together. We are happy and in love. We are married.

Photo credit: Maia Spotts