Domestic Dreams

With the passage of Gay Marriage laws in Iowa and Vermont in the space of a week, bringing the grand total of states to four, it seems like the spirit of ‘Yes We Can,’ has been carried into a couple of the state courts and congresses. This recent burst of activity is certainly encouraging as we continue to wage the war of equal rights across the nation. With all the news of death (shooting after shooting, earthquakes, and wars), and the flaccid (at best) economy, this bit of politics is a welcome ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak forecast. Needless to say, we have a long way to go, 46 states to be exact, but for the sake of careless optimism feel free to take a moment to imagine just how your dream wedding may play out in the great cornfields of Iowa or the bear-friendly backwoods of Vermont.

Like any ‘normal’ boy growing up, I didn’t give much thought to my wedding, though I was interested in what came after. I spent a vast majority of my childhood playtime building forts in the basement or down by the creek, and playing house with my neighbors. Sometimes we’d be married to each other (me and a girl, naturally), sometimes we’d have kids, but more importantly we always had our roles, which were decidedly contrary to usual gender roles. When I wasn’t gathering leaves and sticks to prepare rustic meals at our creek abode, I was stocking up on plastic foods and kitchen accoutrements for our basement palace. I pretended these supplies were important for passing the cold winter cooped up while wolves circled outside. Betsy, our imaginary neighbor, had the misfortune of living alone and often fell prey to said wolves. I may have played a homemaker, but I was smart enough to at least make myself a resourceful one.

As I grew older we stopped playing such childish games, the wacky cast of imaginary characters faded into distant memory, and the blankets and chairs that formed our ceiling and walls were gradually folded and put away. I don’t recall at what age the discovery or admission of my sexuality made me realize that I’d been precluded from being able to ascend to the role of homemaker, but I must have taken it with a grain of salt. It was only when I was forced to play the leading man in my high school’s musical did I realize just how ill-equipped I was by nature for that role. Though my desire for independence and career ambitions, as well as my preference in the bedroom make me anything but submissive, I still find myself drawn towards making a home of my own.

Attribute it to my Midwest roots and my family’s stunning example of long and loving marriages, but I still hold that model as my ideal goal, though the road is much more narrow than it was for my siblings. I performed in The Music Man twice in elementary school, and even though I was from Illinois, I couldn’t help but snicker at the lyrics about the great state of Iowa. No one I knew wanted to ‘give it a try.’ Who knew that their progress would eventually eclipse The Empire State? The only trouble Iowa now has, ‘with a capital T that rhymes with P,’ stands for Pride. Its citizens, diminished and dismissed as backwards, as a mere ‘flyover’ state, can now show both coasts how it’s done.

Vermont on the other hand is less surprising, Republican governor aside; I thought they always had a reputation for being liberal, and that the woods were filled with gay chubby hubbys. Nevertheless, my kudos also goes out to those maple syrup sucking, Canada touching commies; thank you for exercising your legislative power.

Growing up, I never worried about opportunities not being available to me. I was blessed with a loving and supportive family, a private education, and the confidence and encouragement to follow my dreams. Though this news about Iowa and Vermont is exciting, it serves as a reminder of the rights not yet enjoyed by all of us, in New York and 45 other states nationwide. The games are different now, but one thing I have learned is that it’s not enough to just prepare for winter and hope to not be victimized by the wolves of oppression and ignorance. Our generation has the opportunity of winning this historic battle and ensuring our rights for wherever we choose to make our home, even if LiLo won’t be Mrs. Ronson. For all the gays who’ve come before, for all the gays who will come after, for my dear friend Betsy, and every childhood dream that we’ve let die.

Posted originally on homo-neurotic.com 4/8/09