I was asked not to write about our wedding. And I haven't.
The requirements we met to satisfy the state, the traditions we chose to uphold, the words we selected to say to each other are all sacred to us, now even more so as our very right to be together in this manner is threatened.
This past election day I sat teary-eyed and hyperventilating, watching the results of democracy in action. My fellow countrymen had spoken with their collective hearts and minds in a way I'd never seen before and I was completely bowled over by the outcome. The man who inspired this avalanche of emotion spoke eloquently, accepting the difficulties and challenges that lay ahead of us, and attempted to make sense of the events of the day.
I listened incredulously as he attributed his election to the:
"young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled; Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals...". When we first met David, the gentleman who joined us together, he asked our reasons for wanting to get married. I explained that the two of us could not have been more committed to each other. A ceremony and a piece of paper with an official seal would not change that or make it any more so. What we wanted was our place at the table; and here was our chance to take that seat, no more, no less.
Now I'm a fairly basic man; my wants and needs are simple. There's an old song I know, written way back in 1937, sung by people as diverse as Irene Dunne and Nina Simone, and then forgotten. It has always brought tears to my eyes and longing to my heart.
Many men with lofty aims, Strive for lofty goals, Others play at smaller games, Being simpler souls.
I am of the latter brand; All I want to do, Is to find a spot of land, And live there with you.
Someday we'll build a home on a hilltop high, You and I, Shiny and new a cottage that two can fill. And we'll be pleased to be called, "The folks who live on the hill".
Someday we may be adding a thing or two, A wing or two. We will make changes as any fam'ly will, But we will always be called, "The folks who live on the hill".
Our veranda will command a view of meadows green, The sort of view that seems to want to be seen. And when the kids grow up and leave us, We'll sit and look at the same old view, Just we two.
Darby and Joan who used to be Jack and Jill, The folks like to be called, What they have always been called, "The folks who live on the hill".
It seemed a dream I could never take part in. Until now.
I will never forget the way Tim and David held me as I struggled through my marriage vows, fighting in vain to stem my tears. Nor I will forget the way Tim looked at me as he bound his life to mine.
These are things that no one can ever take away from me.