Killer of Sacred Cows' story

Killer of Sacred Cows writes,

As I start writing this diary, it's 9:50 p.m. on Tuesday, June 17th. I've been legally married for seven hours.

It hasn't quite sunk in yet.

I'm a man who has a husband. Legally. Under the law. Recognized by the state.

Equal.

It is impossible to describe what finding out you're equal is like.

Was it the moment when we filled out the license application and got a license, instead of a "sorry, you can't get married because it's against the law for two men to marry each other"?

Was it when we stood before our pastor on the courthouse steps and said "take this ring as a seal on the covenant I make with you today," instead of sitting and watching our straight friends as they said those words and received a new status in return?

Was it when we turned in the completed license and they didn't shred it?

Perhaps it'll hit me when our copy of the marriage certificate arrives. One thing I know for sure, it will hold pride of place on the wall, in a frame, forever.

There were no protesters. We got two or three people walking by giving us dirty looks. Nobody showed up with signs or tambourines or gospel choirs to sing us into shame. It was a party from start to finish.

There weren't many people there throughout the day, but my Unitarian church group gave flowers and wedding cake to each couple married in the morning. There were two before I had to leave to go make my own preparations, and then me and my husband in the afternoon. Apparently it was a quite slow day for marriages outside the courthouse. It looks like many people in my area simply came in to get their licenses.

I almost cried when we said our vows.

And from three days later:

Fri Jun 20, 2008

So, I've been legally married to my man for three days now. At least, in about two hours, it'll be three days.

Everything is different now. It's better. Two nights ago, we were kicking back and talking, and one of us (I forget who) said something like: "Being married makes everything different. It's more real. It's serious. Before, it felt like we were just two teenagers playing house. It doesn't feel like that anymore."

Before marriage, we'd say 'husband' with this sort of wistful 'yeah, that'll happen... not' feel to it. We attended weddings with a bittersweet feeling - happy for our straight friends, but ripped up inside that we couldn't have that too. There was always this thread of "this is temporary" running through our lives, simply because our promises to each other weren't taken seriously by most people - including, in some cases, members of our families. We've been waiting for at least four years to get married - we actually decided we would after the 2004 weddings in San Francisco - and sometimes it just seemed like it would never happen, like our whole relationship was a joke because the state wouldn't acknowledge us as equal to other married people. (And don't get me started on domestic partnership. It's a second-class status.)

That feeling of "this is temporary," of "this isn't really serious" - that feeling is gone now. It's been replaced by a feeling of seriousness, of permanence, of validity.

I participated in a wedding of two straight friends about two weeks ago as the best man. Because I knew that he and I could get married now, the feeling of bittersweet ouch was almost nonexistent that day. It was replaced with a feeling of anticipation - of "we will have this soon, too."

And on our wedding day, when about ten or twelve people from our church and a few of our friends and our Unitarian pastor stood around us in a rough circle on the courthouse steps and said, repeatedly, "bless this marriage," I almost fell apart and cried. We wanted minimal ceremony with maximum meaning, and that's exactly what we ended up with.

Every time I look at my wedding ring, I hear him saying his vows to me. And I well up. I can't help it.

Being married has meaning. It has weight. It's almost a tangible thing, this connection he and I have made. It's something we're aware of all the time now. It's powerful.

And your support and help and generosity - that helped make this happen.

Thank you.

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