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I went to a gay wedding once. That's what the couple called it, and that's what it was: a wedding, replete with ivory-colored invitations that arrived in the mail on high-quality parchment. They read something along the lines of, "We invite you to join us in celebration of our union in marriage" at such and such a time at such and such a church. An organ played the wedding song. A minister presided over vows and rings. There were flowers, cake and matching tuxedos. It was beautiful, and it was ridiculous.
I sat in the pew and stared at the giant asterisk suspended above the couple's heads. The asterisk led to a footnote somewhere in my mind that read: *not really a wedding. Much as I tried, I couldn't bring myself to believe in the authenticity of this ceremony, so firmly associated with heterosexual marriage. These two men acting out the roles of a young straight couple, reciting the familiar lines: "to have and to hold, for richer or poorer . . . "
This was the late '90s, before gay marriage was legal anywhere, so maybe if I were to attend a similar same-sex wedding today, it would feel different. But I don't think so.
Last month, the California Supreme Court overturned that state's ban on gay marriage. Today, the ruling went into effect, and thousands more same-sex couples were allowed into the hallowed institution. And two weeks ago, the governor of New York announced that his state would recognize same-sex marriages performed elsewhere — not as big a leap, but still, it made same-sex marriage a reality in New York.
My friend refers to his "husband," and I'm supposed to not react.
Both of these developments make me almost lightheaded with joy. Like a black frontrunner for president, it's the kind of progress that was unimaginable only ten years ago. Psychologically speaking, these two recent decisions are far more seismic than when Massachusetts legalized same-sex marriage in 2005. That event was exciting for its groundbreaking nature, but it still felt more like the renegade act of a few liberal pioneers, more statement than sea change. Today, the country's two most powerful states (combined population: fifty-six million) have declared themselves on board.
Now this much is clear: no matter what happens in the coming months (a referendum in California may overturn the decision), gay marriage is well on its way, and it's pretty much unstoppable. Years from now, when the country is populated by a generation that's never known a world without same-sex marriage, I'm sure it will feel as pedestrian as the old-fashioned kind, like it's been around forever.
But for now? Oof. What a strange time. The friend whose wedding I attended refers to his "husband," and I'm supposed to basically not react, as if it's all just part of the conversation. I can't say, "Wait, your husband? What? My mom has a husband. My Aunt Betty has a husband. How can you have a husband? We're gay. We don't have husbands. Boyfriends, partners, yes, but not husbands."
, featuring curious yet marvelous infusions of cucumber and rose petal.
