Posted: 15 March 2005 in queerlife, the fantastic

Part of me thought it might be uncomfortable to go to a small North Carolina town, proclaim our mad gay love on the beach, flaunt wedding bands, tell locals, pick up a big gay wedding cake, kiss in public and so on. Neither one of us is used to keeping the queer in check and we didn’t really talk about the discrimination potential for our honeymoon. End result? We’re hitched, the people were pleasant and welcoming, I didn’t even catch a whiff of disapproval – not from the people we told outright and not from the people we implied our relationship to simply by holding hands and doing a lot of post wedding gazing and dreaming. In fact, we’d like to return and make a home there someday soon.

That is, without considering input from my very vocal mother. (VVM henceforth)

VVM thinks I should travel more. “Oh honey, don’t rule out all the places you haven’t been yet!” Despite her previously lukewarm (and that’s being generous) response to my proposed move to Vancouver, she now is pleading with me to “just visit!” and to do it “this summer!”. And, perhaps seeing the ferry leaving the dock, she pushed Wyoming and the west for the first time – “but I just want to be close to you!”. I wanted to point out that I’ve seen a healthy portion of the States and the rest of the world. I wanted to point out that my suitcases are literally ripped and torn and that my traveling shoes are metaphorically battered and worn. That the places I want to visit (Savannah, New Orleans, Boston, the lighthouses of Maine, the maple trees of Vermont, the Appalachians) are not exotic, are not West. VVM doesn’t know this, doesn’t know I’m not coming to live near her, doesn’t know.

If I were catholic, like my darling wife, I’d blame my guilt on religion. But I have no real excuse for feeling like it’s my fault that she doesn’t know these things about me. That I should try harder to share the direction of my dreams. That with some kind of oldest daughter roadmap, VVM would be able to make the turns without squealing around corners and making lefts when she should be making rights. VVM occasionally admits to living through me, though I’m sure if directly accused she’d deny it. I guess this is the toll for such patience when I came out, stayed bent and married a girl. I traded tolerance for nagging. I supposed it’s better than forbearance for criticism.

Though this post was rambling, bottom line is that the ceremony went beautifully. Our feet were freezing in the early spring sand and the wind was sharp but her vows warmed me down into the soles of my feet, the ocean front house warmed my heart, the seaside ceremony my soul. Her excitement was beautifully clear – she bounced! And I feel differently now. Married.
I’m married. Married!


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