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.