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Whenever I have a scheduled medical procedure, albeit for something chronic illness related or for whatever ligament I tore this time, throwing my body at the ground in a grand attempt to stop a speeding softball and/or win the hearts of the fans in the bleachers. I always pause while filling out the requisite paperwork, completely halted at the demand for marital status.
Check one:
Single
Married
Legally, I’m well aware of my status. And as such, I inevitably mark a bold, uncomfortable ‘x’ next to “Single.” Still, every time I befall a brief lapse in protocol and must therefore catch myself before absent mindedly checking, circling, and doodling happy faces and hearts next to “Married.”
Were these check boxes and their superiors to watch a streaming video of my life, they’d quickly discern that I am unequivocally and (dare I say it) happily a wedded woman. We take care of one another when we’re sick. We pay bills together. We’ll spend an hour ping-ponging dinner possibilities before deciding, “Aww, screw it! We’ll split a bowl of popcorn.” We’ll resort to the mind games married couples play on one another when neither of us is particularly in the mood to load the dishwasher. “Bring it bitch. I’ve got HOURS of staring at that pile of dishes in the sink left in me! Muahahahaaa!”
It’s funny because it’s true.
The moment Rhonda and I became engaged, we weren’t thinking about the lack of legal recognition, nor were we wrought with political agenda. We were in love and both excited to lock in a lifetime of waking up next to a hot, naked chick. Whether or not the hot, naked chick could medically insure me as her spouse; or the potential for getting rudely lectured in Jamaican customs on our honeymoon because we check the “civil union” box on our joint entry form as per instructed by the flight attendant, never crossed our minds. We had a wedding ceremony and “got married” because we had each found someone we knew we could enjoy for the rest of our lives (regardless the state of our dress. although let’s be honest here, naked time is awesome time).
And now here we are, eight days away from celebrating our third year of “That Night We Proclaimed to the World That We Were Going to Love Each Other No Matter What (less the event Rhonda ever swings at a 3-0 pitch, and then I’m walkin’),” and I’m grateful that we have it so easy. As if in defiance of the awkward sinking feeling I get every time I mark “Single” on a government form, exponentially more so is the love and acceptance Rhonda and I receive from our friends and family. I have very little concept of what it’s like to be cast aside or hated for who I love. I know the overwhelming emotions involved in checking the box “Gay,” before surrendering the forms back to parents, friends, teachers, siblings... everyone. But I have no concept of the terror surrounding what they all might have to say. I never feared that they wouldn’t love me any more. So I’ll say again, I’m grateful.
Two days ago was National Coming Out Day. I was completely unaware of the holiday until the day of, and even then, I was too preoccupied chugging Theraflu by the gallons to pay much notice. Regardless the day, I hope anyone reading this can at least empathize the difficulty involved in living a life, completely open and honest with who you are. Whether gay, ambiguous, harboring addiction, hiding a pregnancy, in love with a circus performer, create a family derived of multiple partners, decide not to have children, or just really love to sit in bathtubs full of Jello, coming out of the closet is hard. It’s terrifying to consider how everyone you hold dear might react. It’s unnerving to think that they may spend the rest of eternity judging you. Living a life with a sign on your chest stating, “THIS IS WHO I AM” is something most people just don’t do.
So if you’re like me and missed the opportunity to say to someone, “Hey, I love you just for who you are.” Perhaps you’ll think about doing so sooner than later. And hey! Happy (late) Coming Out Day!
Check one:
Single
Married
Legally, I’m well aware of my status. And as such, I inevitably mark a bold, uncomfortable ‘x’ next to “Single.” Still, every time I befall a brief lapse in protocol and must therefore catch myself before absent mindedly checking, circling, and doodling happy faces and hearts next to “Married.”
Were these check boxes and their superiors to watch a streaming video of my life, they’d quickly discern that I am unequivocally and (dare I say it) happily a wedded woman. We take care of one another when we’re sick. We pay bills together. We’ll spend an hour ping-ponging dinner possibilities before deciding, “Aww, screw it! We’ll split a bowl of popcorn.” We’ll resort to the mind games married couples play on one another when neither of us is particularly in the mood to load the dishwasher. “Bring it bitch. I’ve got HOURS of staring at that pile of dishes in the sink left in me! Muahahahaaa!”
It’s funny because it’s true.
The moment Rhonda and I became engaged, we weren’t thinking about the lack of legal recognition, nor were we wrought with political agenda. We were in love and both excited to lock in a lifetime of waking up next to a hot, naked chick. Whether or not the hot, naked chick could medically insure me as her spouse; or the potential for getting rudely lectured in Jamaican customs on our honeymoon because we check the “civil union” box on our joint entry form as per instructed by the flight attendant, never crossed our minds. We had a wedding ceremony and “got married” because we had each found someone we knew we could enjoy for the rest of our lives (regardless the state of our dress. although let’s be honest here, naked time is awesome time).
And now here we are, eight days away from celebrating our third year of “That Night We Proclaimed to the World That We Were Going to Love Each Other No Matter What (less the event Rhonda ever swings at a 3-0 pitch, and then I’m walkin’),” and I’m grateful that we have it so easy. As if in defiance of the awkward sinking feeling I get every time I mark “Single” on a government form, exponentially more so is the love and acceptance Rhonda and I receive from our friends and family. I have very little concept of what it’s like to be cast aside or hated for who I love. I know the overwhelming emotions involved in checking the box “Gay,” before surrendering the forms back to parents, friends, teachers, siblings... everyone. But I have no concept of the terror surrounding what they all might have to say. I never feared that they wouldn’t love me any more. So I’ll say again, I’m grateful.
Two days ago was National Coming Out Day. I was completely unaware of the holiday until the day of, and even then, I was too preoccupied chugging Theraflu by the gallons to pay much notice. Regardless the day, I hope anyone reading this can at least empathize the difficulty involved in living a life, completely open and honest with who you are. Whether gay, ambiguous, harboring addiction, hiding a pregnancy, in love with a circus performer, create a family derived of multiple partners, decide not to have children, or just really love to sit in bathtubs full of Jello, coming out of the closet is hard. It’s terrifying to consider how everyone you hold dear might react. It’s unnerving to think that they may spend the rest of eternity judging you. Living a life with a sign on your chest stating, “THIS IS WHO I AM” is something most people just don’t do.
So if you’re like me and missed the opportunity to say to someone, “Hey, I love you just for who you are.” Perhaps you’ll think about doing so sooner than later. And hey! Happy (late) Coming Out Day!
hungry
And I really hated checking "Single" when I filled out the forms at the ENT. Next time, I'm checking both.
And I love you. :)
I can't even say I know what a 3-0 pitch is, but this post really strikes a chord with me. Two days ago, I was standing on the mall listening to Lt. Dan Choi, a man who tossed his very successful career with the military aside for this and is, therefore, like a rock star to me, speak about why he's not willing to hide. And I was thinking to myself that I am finally at the point where most, if not all, of the people in my life know who I am, even if it didn't go very well for me, and how great that is in spite of the consequences.
--eh hem--
And I'm happy to hear that you're in such a good place with who you are. :)
Just F.Y.I.
My world is better for knowing you and Rhonda and happy anniversary to you both!
b.) Right back at you! You and Holly are beyond awesome.
*HUGS*
*HUGS* back at you!
People who classify themselves as married are usually considered so. Without question, at a minimum, you are domestic partners.
It's was small step for gaykind.
It's a small step for gay kind.
I was clearly typing too fast and not proof reading.