JR and I spend our days being insufferably pleased with our lot. Things are going well for us, and despite some bumps and shattered bones, it has been a fantastic year for our marriage. And what better way to celebrate it than by throwing in with those who, because of the law and the land, cannot enjoy what has made us so happy in the past 12 months?
As the saying goes, there but for the grace of the universe go we. Had I not found the perfect partner in J.R., it is entirely possible that I would be lamenting my inability to marry my boyfriend. Actually, it is far more likely that I would be lamenting not having a boyfriend, legal wedding march or not. But the sentiment would be there.
So when this March for Equality happened to fall on my wedding anniversary, it seemed appropriate to go and, well, march. And march we did.
The whole trip seemed fairly magical. None of the bumps and bruises that normally accompany travel were apparent. We got there safely, got a wonderful room at the hotel, then went down to the hotel bar to toast our good fortune of nothing bad happening.
And who should be at the bar, but three of the organizers at the march. I don’t remember their names, only that one looked alot like Mark Sheppard, and another resembled a more hard-core Mur Lafferty (imagine what Mur would look like after a lifetime of cage-fighting). The Mur-looklike was revealed to be a sargent in the LA police force, and was worried that not enough people would show up for the March. “We may only get 20,000,” she said.
There was a few more than 20,000.
The march was immense. I am told there were 200,000 to 250,000 participants, and I don’t doubt it. The crowd snaked through Washington waving flags and shouting slogals. “Obama! Obama! Let mama marry mama!” Signs declared that it was “Time to put a ring on it!” and that “My sister has more rights than I do.” Families marched together. Children rode on the shoulders of their parents. Old lovers held hands and kissed. The march was about legitimizing the love we feel, and in that, the march was full of love. I found myself thinking, “Why would anyone think this love was wrong?”
Why, indeed.
I wish I could express the absolute joy I felt as part of this march. I wish I could bottle it and send it to you. The feeling of community, of being part of a cause fighting a clear injustice, was electric and exciting. Worth waiting hours in the sun to start, and worth marching the 2 miles or so to get to the Capital. There were speakers–Cynthia Nixon, Judy Sheppard, Lt. Dan Choi and we passed Alan Cumming, hanging out with his boyfriend–but that was icing. The march, the love that surrounded it, that was an event in of itself. That was all I needed.
I had my picture taken several times during the march, due to my fantastic sartorial sense. It’s always nice to be told you are dressed well at a queer event. The fellow who took the picture below said that I was so handsome that he would marry me.
“But I can’t,” he added. “It’s illegal.”
Hopefully, not for too much longer.
