That sucked.
My favorite kid of all times, Ethan Ray Bunka Shmoo, just told me that he didn't want to go to any "lesbian wedding." At first I was sort of amused, but now that his statement has sunk in, I kind of want to cry a little bit.
A few hours after the initial awe of Cedar saying she would marry me, I had one thought -- "Oh, shit." I suddenly realized that outside of committing my life to this wonderful person, I would soon be learning things about the people that I love that I actually don't want to know. I knew that my loved ones' quiet homophobia would probably become a lot louder as I weighed the pros and cons of buffet vs. sit-down food, dj vs. mixed cds, and what reading I'd ask Manya to do... and I wasn't very excited about that. I made a personal committment to really listen and experience that homophobia from the people who love me because I don't just get to marry my love -- I actually have to carry the weight of being "different" throughout the process.
One reaction that I often get from people once I tell them that I'm engaged to a girl is questions about what the wedding won't or can't be. I always get the question about whether or not we're going to Canada (no, I actually live in this country) or whether or not Cedar is going to wear a tux (absolutely not). But I won't think about what my wedding won't be because it's exactly the same as what every other wedding is -- my chance to stand in front of my friends and family, tell them about how important this relationship is to me, and then use that support to keep my marriage going for a very, very long time. If I'm lucky, I might get some good presents from our registry while I'm at it.
Okay, so I live in a bubble. My home is in Portland, OR and I'm a social worker -- having a lesbian wedding is somewhat of a badge of honor in the circles I exist in, and I sometimes forget that other folks might think it's a problem. But that comfy bubble is popped when my dad gets frustrated in hearing that I'm changing my name (I bet he didn't do that to my two sisters) or when my mom asks me not to invite my aunt and grandma. It gets a bit harder to stomach after hearing that Cedar's great-grandma will be there and her grandparents are so excited that their oldest grandchild is settling down. Of course, there is her Mormon father...
(To be fair, I must mention that my dad gave me his wedding ring from his marriage to my mother to use and my mom sticks 20 bucks in the wedding jar whenever she's at our house.)
Fuck, why does this have to be hard? Isn't it hard enough to figure out how we're going to pay for this or how traditional we want this to be or how many people to keep on our "Must Haves" guest list? The whole time feeling a little freaked out to be getting married in the first place?
I'm sure that Ethan will come around by next September. I can't forget that everytime my family members talk about my wedding, they're outing themselves too. And that's hard for my mom living in Hermiston and my nephew in the first grade. I guess I just wish that they could keep that struggle to themselves.
A few hours after the initial awe of Cedar saying she would marry me, I had one thought -- "Oh, shit." I suddenly realized that outside of committing my life to this wonderful person, I would soon be learning things about the people that I love that I actually don't want to know. I knew that my loved ones' quiet homophobia would probably become a lot louder as I weighed the pros and cons of buffet vs. sit-down food, dj vs. mixed cds, and what reading I'd ask Manya to do... and I wasn't very excited about that. I made a personal committment to really listen and experience that homophobia from the people who love me because I don't just get to marry my love -- I actually have to carry the weight of being "different" throughout the process.
One reaction that I often get from people once I tell them that I'm engaged to a girl is questions about what the wedding won't or can't be. I always get the question about whether or not we're going to Canada (no, I actually live in this country) or whether or not Cedar is going to wear a tux (absolutely not). But I won't think about what my wedding won't be because it's exactly the same as what every other wedding is -- my chance to stand in front of my friends and family, tell them about how important this relationship is to me, and then use that support to keep my marriage going for a very, very long time. If I'm lucky, I might get some good presents from our registry while I'm at it.
Okay, so I live in a bubble. My home is in Portland, OR and I'm a social worker -- having a lesbian wedding is somewhat of a badge of honor in the circles I exist in, and I sometimes forget that other folks might think it's a problem. But that comfy bubble is popped when my dad gets frustrated in hearing that I'm changing my name (I bet he didn't do that to my two sisters) or when my mom asks me not to invite my aunt and grandma. It gets a bit harder to stomach after hearing that Cedar's great-grandma will be there and her grandparents are so excited that their oldest grandchild is settling down. Of course, there is her Mormon father...
(To be fair, I must mention that my dad gave me his wedding ring from his marriage to my mother to use and my mom sticks 20 bucks in the wedding jar whenever she's at our house.)
Fuck, why does this have to be hard? Isn't it hard enough to figure out how we're going to pay for this or how traditional we want this to be or how many people to keep on our "Must Haves" guest list? The whole time feeling a little freaked out to be getting married in the first place?
I'm sure that Ethan will come around by next September. I can't forget that everytime my family members talk about my wedding, they're outing themselves too. And that's hard for my mom living in Hermiston and my nephew in the first grade. I guess I just wish that they could keep that struggle to themselves.