With This Ring I Thee Wed

                            If you’re expecting some militant rant on my rights, I’m sorry to disappoint. I’m not what you’d call a political person. Like the majority of my red-blooded American brethren, I am ill-informed, cynical, & easily influenced by topical TV programming. Even at my peak of teenage idealism, my dedication to the cause came in widely-spaced twenty minute spurts. I went to Queer Youth Lobby Day & daydreamed through my region’s talk with our congressman, actually repeating what was just said when it was my turn to express an opinion. So much for making my voice heard. But one of the main reasons I actively refrain from activism is the peril I place myself in by investing emotionally in any rhetoric. Because it’s difficult to think of my own civil rights (the missing ones) and not connect the people in my life who believe these rights aren’t mine with the idea they must think less of me somehow. So I don’t think about it. Or speak about it. Because I’m not up for a debate & especially because I think, traitorously, that that particular subject isn’t really the most important issue to consider when heading to the voting booth. Hate me if you like.

                The story, crap, I’m nowhere near it yet. To start painting the picture, my dad is a somewhat conservative truck driver who is married to a (quite lovely) women’s jail guard. He’s not, like, Focus on the Family conservative, thank God, but he’s definitely not an NPR listener. Like, he probably supports the whole French burqa ban. But he loves me, I've never really doubted that. And he has never, EVER, expressed any sort of disappointment regarding his only son being a flaming queer. At least not to my face, which is more than good enough for me.

                As to the other player in this uplifting drama, may I introduce my marriage. I met Jeff in July of 2006 and our courtship was pretty damn quick: we registered our domestic partnership in January of ’07, and I don’t think I’d even introduced him to my parents yet. Our relationship has survived much: active crystal meth addiction, homelessness, custody battles, separation due to jail time, mini-wars with family members, hurting our son/each other/ourselves. But again, I’ve never doubted the love that serves as our foundation, and it turns out I bet on the right horse.

                Now, the story: Thanksgiving day found Jeff, Tristan(son), and myself spending the day with assorted members of the family my dad had the good sense to marry into. I was playing with this ring I had found on the sidewalk near my grandpa’s place, which started a conversation with my dad about the sad fate of Jeff & mine’s wedding rings (pawned, long ago). I didn’t think anything of my dad’s questions to Jeff: believe me, if I’d known the outcome of it, my manipulative ass would’ve paraded my ringless hand & matching sob story around long before this. So. The next day, Black Friday, my dad calls me and OFFERS to BUY JEFF & I SOME RINGS for CHRISTMAS! So we met him at the mall and took him up on his offer, of course.

                And aside from walking away from this with a beautiful set of matching rings, I walk away with much more. I know that whatever my dad’s opinion of gay marriage in general, my father respects my relationship with Jeff, my quasi-adoption of Tristan, and sees that this is for the long haul. I’d love, after all this exposition, to expand on this. But what else is there to say? What else could I possibly ask for?