It's Ancient History, But History Nonetheless

That big lesbo eb recently posted pictures of her hetero-wedding. Before she posted them, I encouraged her (as if she needed it) by saying I'd show mine if she'd show hers.

Yes I, too, was once married and have hetero-wedding pictures of my own. Oh sure, it's ancient history. But it's my history, and an important chapter at that.

I can't tell you how many friends, upon meeting my ex-husband, have said, "What were you thinking!?" I mainly heard that during his mullet-and-pierced-ear phase which began well after we divorced and ended only recently. Despite that rather unfortunate era, he was, and still is, a good man.

The date was June 26, 1982. Our son is now older than we were when these photos were taken. The bride was nineteen, the groom twenty on the 'if I'd known then what I figured out later I'd have known better' occasion of our wedding. We were married for seven years and divorced because I am a lesbian. That poor man didn't know what hit him. Yes, the circumstantial guilt can be thick and gooey even after all these years. It would have been so much simpler had he been an asshole.

We got married in the Methodist church I attended while growing up, the same church where my mother had married my step-father some seven years prior. Neither of us was particularly spiritual, yet a church wedding seemed appropriate. As did a white dress. Sure. Perfectly appropriate.

Per tradition, my father gave me away at the altar. The 5'-6" groom looks rather munchkin-like standing there next to my 6'-5" father, doesn't he? I am eternally grateful our son inherited the height gene from my side of the family.

Our wedding party was small.

My maid of honor, Molly, was my best friend and confidant all through high school and for years beyond. We keep in touch now only sporadically. If I had a forehead as large as hers, I'd keep it covered with bangs. But that's just me.

The best man, Dean, had lived with the groom's family while growing up. I never really did get the story behind that. Last I heard he was living in Thailand. That was at least a decade ago.

My mother was quite relieved her parents could not attend the wedding. They lived in the Deep South and she knew her father would react badly to our best man being black. The photos shared with them were censored. I loved my grandfather dearly, yet it's a very good thing he died without knowing I am gay.

So that was then. My ex finally remarried about three years ago. We talk now primarily to coordinate financial issues surrounding our son. Once The Boy graduates college next spring, it's likely we'll talk even less. That chapter in my life will be wrapped up neatly and tied with a bow, the memories and photos of our youthful selves remaining to remind us of who we were then before we became who we are now.

.