I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad telling me I didn’t have a wedding, I had a party. That the State of Washington didn’t recognize me as married. I’ve been trying to determine how that lessens what I’ve chosen. I got married even when there was absolutely no financial benefit. I got married despite the fact that the state is going to pretend I didn’t. I got married as a symbolic manifestation of my heart, of my fidelity. I got married without privilege. And I married despite these inequalities.
If I lived in New York, and the state recognized my wedding as lawful, would my father? His position on state ratification is spurious, surely. A privilege denied me. Another way to judge the legitimacy of my relationship. My affair, as he named it. I’ve been thinking that in many ways, he honored me at last, by trying to belittle the fact that I chose these things without advantage. Because that’s the best part of what Mary and I did. We married in the company of our friends and family, at the feet of our community, and vowed our devotion. Not in some cold judge’s chamber in the rote tedium of the first time round. It’s like telling the woman she isn’t a witch if she drowns. You aren’t married if you choose to be bound together before witnesses, to share your lives, unless the state notices and agrees.
No. That isn’t right. I am married. I have married well and happily, at last. I would be his daughter even if he weren’t married to my mom. I would be his child in spite of any legitimacy recognized by the state. You cannot tell me I am not married. I know you to be wrong.
That was beautifully written. I agree that you & Mary are married. I am sadden that your father doesn’t accept that. I hope that someday I can have the courge to be that bold to my father. For now, all I can do is quietly love Jessica. Thank you for being a great voice for all of us.
Thank you, Amy. I wish you and Jessica well.
I was married to a woman for seven years; two weeks ago, I married a man.
What’s painful to me is when people, mostly well-meaning, ask “So what’s it like to be married?!” When someone asks me this question, they discount the legitimacy of my first relationship, whether they realize it or not. I WAS married, and it WAS real, even if it didn’t happen in a church or with a clergy person or with a toner-smelling license from the government.
I’m not married to her anymore, but I won’t discount the trueness of our relationship. I called her “wife” and she answered to it; and that’s good enough for me.
It’s an awful thing to attempt to rank love. To sort and file it. This is more real than that. These are more legal than those. Absurd. Wrong.
In happier news, congratulations, Devon. I meant to tell you the other day at the park. Best wishes for you and your love.
It is like that town hall meeting last week where the Secretary of the Department of Whatever was explaining how they were cutting food benefits for certain groups and she kept saying “and these children aren’t illegals” and I wanted to scream “CHILDREN CAN’T BE ILLEGAL!”
How can a marriage between two enthusiastically consenting people be illegal?
Ha! I love that your comment has my photo, Mary.