Time. It Marches On.

I am 46 years old. My birthday was on Election Day this year. I gave myself the day off work, despite knowing I'd have to scramble to make up the time later. The Boy was home to vote and spend the day with me, a holiday made to order! (May I say for the record how much I adore that he is currently only a $20 bus ride away?)

Our family, the three of us, watched the election returns together, feasting on chicken and dumplings, a fire dancing in the fireplace, our spirits high as the numbers rolled in. Nice day. Great night. Good times.

But then I awoke Wednesday and read how the vote on Proposition 8 in California and the exclusionary "marriage" measures in other states turned out. My stomach turned sour.

We attended the rally in DC last Saturday, one of many held in cities around our nation protesting the outcome of Prop 8. It did not uplift my spirits as expected but I'm glad we went. The Boy attended the march in NYC---that makes me proud.

Where does the rest of my family stand on the issue of same-sex marriage? My co-workers? Neighbors? Friends? The supportive ones make themselves clear, some leave me guessing, and others I'm not sure I want to know. Do they even think about it? I feel naked. It is just that personal.

Wendy and I marked our tenth anniversary last month. I'm going to marry her someday and it's not going to matter where others stand. We will get there. I believe.

I also feel terribly dramatic.
I'm grateful it doesn't always show.

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