“If I get married, I want to be very married.”
― Audrey Hepburn
I have been really struck by how grateful I am to be legally married. Here it is nine months later (wow!) and I get hit by it all the time. I am married! I am legally married. I have a legally recognized husband….
Now R doesn’t care one way or the other. He says we were married ten years ago when we had our ceremony. And I agree! I do! Our formal declaration is what matters. For centuries (millennia?) marriage wasn’t something done at the courthouse. There were no legal documents to frame and put on the wall.
And I am not certain when it was the church got involved and decided it was Its domain and they had a say so on what was and was not a marriage. I really don’t give a sh*t. R and I were married in every way that meant anything when we stood up in a room of well over a hundred people and declared ourselves husbands.
Husband means “caretaker.” As in husbandry. We love each other and are committed to each other and will be there for each other through thick and thin, even when we are mad at each other. THAT is what really matters.
Every time I say, “My husband R…” I still get a shock when I realize that I am legally married.
All my straight friends grew up just assuming they would get married. It was a part of the cultural plan. Like prom and graduation and probably going to at least a year of a community college. Then they would get married and have 2.5 kids and they would never ever get divorced and they would be there for each other until the end of time. It’s part of that Cinderella thing every kid grew up believing.
But for centuries, when gay people realized they were gay, we knew we would never ever be able to get married. At least to a member of the same sex.
And then humanity grew up and realized that no man should own another man, woman should be able to vote, that there should be a minimum wage, and a host of other things. One of them would be that it shouldn’t matter who you are in love with, you should be able to have the same rights, privileges and opportunities as everyone else in a free country. That includes getting married. Even if you are two men, two women, or two whatever people identify as.
Basic. Human. Rights.
So when I look down at my hand and I see that ring, nine months later this powerful ZING rips through me. I tear up. I get excited.
Because that thing on the wall? That piece of paper that is “only” a piece of paper? That license that shouldn’t make a difference?
It does make a difference.
I am typing this, crying, my heart full of deep gratitude.
I am married. It is real. Realer even more than it was when the only thing that really mattered was our love.
And for those who don’t like it?
Some men love other men. Some women love other women. Some men marry other men. Some women marry other women.
Get over it.