Gays and Lesbians Getting Married? Haven't They Suffered Enough?

Michael Shaw really hit the nail on the head with his March 1, 2004 New Yorker Cartoon. The cartoon captures all of my ambivalence, confusion, fear, and outrage about gay marriage. Marriage hasn't worked all that well for straight couples, how will it work for the rest of us?

My ambivalence stems from how I feel about marriage. I firmly believe that if you and your sweetie want to get married that you should do it. I'm not convinced that marriage should be the norm among lesbian and gay couples. Ron and I have had a very settled existence for a couple of decades, but neither he nor I consider us married. Our relationship is not like most married relationships. Our commitment and faithfulness to each other doesn't depend on sexual fidelity. And yet, I'm quite sure that he and I are as settled and rooted in our relationship as any married couple. I believe that our relationship deserves equal respect too in our society. I also believe that Ron's and my relationship is an important part of the social fabric - we care for each other. We watch out for each other and for our chosen families. But I would not want to call us married, because marriage does not fit the kind of family, and the kind of relationships that I have.

Like the couple in the cartoon, I'm confused: why do gay people want to get married? Is it for the benefits? Is it for the respect? Is it for the shower gifts? What's behind the movement for same-sex marriage? Why is it so important that it has taken over the LGBT political agenda? Yes, the Defense of Marriage Act is an odious piece of legislation that needs to be repealed. Beyond that, many of the benefits of marriage can (and will) be granted by the states, and eventually the Federal government and the courts will follow suit. As for respect, you only get it by taking it. Respect is not a compelling reason to get married. That sentimental altar moment is not a compelling reason to get married, either. On the other hand, if the public commitment before the state is what you need to confirm your feelings for another human being, I guess you're going to have to get married.

I have fears about same-sex marriage, too. I think it strikes straight at some of the defining mores of our gay male culture. Will the brave new world of married gay male culture stigmatize men who do not seek out permanent relationships, but are quite happy with their sex buds and a circle of friends? This is a serious question because out gay male culture since Stonewall has celebrated not only gay sex, but a liberating notion about sexuality itself - that sex with others is a virtue, and that sex with many different partners is valuable. Yes, AIDS devastated our community, but we know now how to have sex that doesn't spread HIV or hepatitis or syphilus. We can enjoy sex without the constraints of marriage and outside our relationships - if that's what we want. We can enjoy being who we are and what we feel. I fear that same-sex marriage will so change our views of ourselves and others that we will lose an authentic value of what it means to be a gay male.

Finally, the arguments swirling around same-sex marriage are outrageous. The world as we know it won't end when everyone can tie the knot. Massachusetts hasn't been smitten by the rod of God. At last report, the seven plagues have not leveled the God-fearing people of Iowa or their highest court. Plainly, same-sex marriage has not undermined traditional marriage, no matter what the opponents to same-sex marriage would have you believe. People have legitimate fears about religious practice, and fears about the public sanctioning of homosexuality. But to use those reasons to oppose same-sex marriage is wrong. In the first instance, the First Amendment prohibits the government from forcing religious institutions to perform same-sex marriages, or for that matter, even letting homosexuals in the front doors of their churches. In the second instance, the state does not have a straight version of marriage and a gay version of marriage. It only has marriage.

So, I'll remain ambivalent on this issue.

Stonewall

Forty years ago, today, the homosexuals of New York City fought back. It wasn't the first time that gay people fought the police, but for all sorts of reasons, the Stonewall riots captured the gay imagination and consciousness and started us on the road to full civic participation in American society. No mean feat for a beaten up bulldyke and some drag queens who inspired a quiet crowd to get ugly and riot.

More power to them.

Gee, It's Been a While

Ron at his desk

This is a picture that I took of Ron a couple of days ago. I fiddled with it, but am really pleased with the way it turned out. It's almost artistic!

The problem with having a blog is that it is a beast that always has to be fed. I sometimes don't do that too well. Part of it is that the daily detritus of my life doesn't always seem to merit any report. Part of it is general laziness.

For the record, I'm continuing to heal. Simone, one of the physical therapists, wasn't too thrilled to learn that I had been walking up the Wheaton Metro escalator, so I told her not to tell anyone. The knee is not swollen very much at all, and I'm now doing strengthening exercises. Last week's inflammation seemed to be caused by irritation to my right leg's iliotibial band, but exercises to stretch that seem to be working well.

Yep, in other medical news, I made it back to my urologist. He checked out my plumbing and ordered a CT IVP. He doesn't seem to think there is anything to worry about, but is a little mystified why my penis sometimes bleeds after oral sex. That makes at least two of us.

I did go square dancing on Thursday night. It was an ABC dance, and Ronnie and I, injured though we were, danced. I felt it on Friday, but not too bad, and I was careful. It's another activity that I'm not reporting to Gretchen, my physical therapist. We had five visitors. Kent and Brian were calling. We'll have other ABC dances in July and August.

Yesterday, I braised some country pork ribs. I haven't fixed them since I was a kid. They came out very tasty. Next, I want to successfully fix them barbequed (slow-cooked) on the grill. It presents some logistical difficulties, but I feel up to it.

Finally, Mark Sanford, you've made my week. Every time I hear your name, I can't help but giggle. The depth and breadth of your hypocrisy, deceit, and mis-government takes the cake for Republican scandals this week. But I'm sure the GOP can do one better next week.

This Old Bod

Well, not that old, but creaky, sometimes. I had knee surgery nearly two weeks ago. Initially, I felt no pain. The surgeon had me on naproxen, which kept the swelling in check, and I iced the knee throughout the day. Naproxen is a powerful NSAID, and it upsets my stomach, but it's very effective as an anti-inflammatory and kept the swelling in check.

I finished the naproxen on Saturday. Sunday I went to the Pride festival downtown, and walked too much. My knee and leg swelled up. I've been using ibuprofen since then, and it seems to help, but it's not quite as effective.

I also have slowed down on my activity, a bit, EXCEPT for the physical therapy. I started PT five days after surgery. The therapist has steadily increased the amount and number of exercises. They are challenging, on the verge of painful. The therapist told me that I have to push my performance, but not to the point of injury. I'm continuing to ice my leg three times a day, too.

I had the stitches removed yesterday (and covered with steri-strips). I'm continuing with PT for another couple of weeks or longer.

The Pot at the End of the Gay Rainbow

If we can't adequately take care of our parents, how do gay people expect to take care of themselves as they grow very old?

I'm now of the age that when I get together with friends (who are also usually around my age), talk often strays to taking care of infirm parents. The stories often are not happy. These are not tales of Mom and Dad taking off for a Caribbean Cruise or a drive in the Great Smokies. More likely these are plaints about Medicare coverage, short-term memory loss, chronic pain, and the oxygen tether.

In my immediate circle, our surviving parents are in fairly good physical health, considering that all of them are on the sunset side of 80. All of them have their aches and pains. One suffers from COPD. Another has had TIAs that caused memory loss and anxiety. Another has some signs of chronic depression. The common thread to all of these elderly people is that they are becoming increasingly isolated from family, friends, and caretakers.

Their isolation isn't deliberate, but as physical infirmity increases, the task of seeing other people, getting out of the house, shopping, getting one's hair done becomes onerous to the point that our parents just don't get out anymore. Most of them also have the frame of mind of not wanting to bother other people, so family and friends don't visit as often as needed. Finally, the cost of caregiving, and general maintenance of their homes poses financial strain on some so that repairs, or modifications (to accommodate their infirmities) don't get done.

I don't have any solutions to this. I know, though, that our parents' caregivers have a tremendous burden, and at the end of the day, our parents' needs are still not met. And it's not about money, either. Most of our parents have financial means to take care of themselves reasonably well. The real problems are that they've outlived their social network of friends, and that their families are often scattered and far away. They've experienced creeping isolation for months and years, and wake up one day to find out they are pretty much housebound and very dependent on one or more caregivers who also have busy lives of their own.

This is all prologue. My friends and I are getting older, and we've all seen the golden years up close and personal with our parents. What's our pot at the end of our gay rainbow?

Most of my gay friends have the financial means to live to the end of very long lives, the current financial mess notwithstanding. We've seen our parents grow old, and the solutions to their situation are variations on the theme of duct tape, twine, and rubber bands. The financial framework has worked okay, if not quite well, but the social component has not been particularly good at all for our parents or their caregivers (often one of our sisters, or maybe one of us). What lessons have we learned, and how do we make the very old phase of our lives gold rather than dross?

Gay people need to think as seriously about their social future as they do their financial future. Most of us will not have family to take care of us when we are very old, so the threat of isolation for us looms even larger than with our parents. We will also probably live longer than our parents, so the isolation may be longer and deeper, too.

Here are some needs. I'm not sure how to get there, but perhaps out of this, a necessary discussion about the kind of old age that we want can begin.

• Financial independence that will last to the end of our lives.

How ever we plan to retire and be financially independent, we should definitely have a rational plan that has a reasonable chance of success. Financial planning is key, considering that many of us will end up living very long lives, far beyond the time that we stop working. Working with a financial planner, and mapping out a financial future is our responsibility, and the first step to finding the pot at the end of the rainbow.

• Housing that meets our physical and social needs.

Many of my friends are already considering housing that meets their physical needs. We're talking about single story homes here. Stairs become increasingly incompatible with old age. Of course, other considerations include wheelchair accessibility, ease of bathing, and dressing, and means of food preparation as we grow older. Beyond the physical, I also want to live in a community where other gay people live. I don't want to retire to a community or an assisted care facility where I could not live my life as I want to. And I don't want caregivers who would in any way object to my life as a gay man.

• An assisting social network that will help us remain in our homes, and keep us in a larger social world.

We need a corps of elderly gay boy scouts, or its or moral equivalent. A major burden of elderly people is getting around, getting to the store, to a doctor's appointment, or to the movies, or lunch with a friend. Chores around the house are a challenge: housecleaning is a strenuous activity. Finally, we may need a daily call or reminder to take our medications. The most important part of this is face-to-face human contact. It helps stave off social isolation. Somehow we need to develop a community that cares about its members.

• A means to keep us mentally and physically engaged with the world appropriate for our mental and physical abilities.

Mental and physical fitness are a personal responsibility. Clearly, if we don't use it, we lose it, and that's especially true as we get very old. We need the means, institutions, and our own devices to stay fit mentally and physically. I'm not sure how to do it, maybe it means having a dog, and working in the garden, and doing a daily crossword, but we need to work at keeping engaged with our world.

Have I covered all the bases here? What's your take on Grey and Gay, and what's the pot you're looking for at the end of the rainbow?

I hope you join this discussion. I think it's critical for the gay community to recognize the scope of this issue, and start talking now about needs, plans, and institutional/community structures that can help LGBT people have a secure and happy old age. Sooner or later, if we live long enough, we'll all get old. Let's be ready for it.

I'm Bored

I'm sitting at my computer, icing my knee, listening to NPR. The knee hurts more than it used, to, but nothing that I wouldn't expect from a body part that has three stitched up boreholes in it. That was a plug for sympathy, but I think I've pretty much milked as much human kindness as I can from this situation.

I'm walking better, but it causes a lot of wear and tear on my hip, and on my other knee. All our body parts were meant to work together without any slackers, and when my right knee takes a few days off, my left knee squawks. I am amazed at how the body compensates for its aches, pains, and inconveniences. We are walking marvels, no doubt about it.

Ron showed me the pictures that the doctor took when he put a camera inside my knee, shades of Fantastic Voyage. The image of the meniscal tear looked a lot like frayed canvas. The picture of the surgery shows the frayed edges trimmed away from the cartilage. These are some of the most intimate pictures I've seen of myself, from the inside.

Today, Ron's taking me to see the surgeon. Afterwards, it's physical therapy. I've been pretty good about following his instructions, so far. The main physical complaint right now is some swelling on the knee, but the icing really does help. I do that three times a day. The doctor also has me doing leg lifts several times a day. The pain is very slight, mainly what I have is a leg that feels tired, and some sympathetic pain from other body parts.

The Problem of Homosexual Stigma

Yesterday, I was cruising around Facebook, and happened upon a group, Building connections to protect tradition (sic) marriage when the day comes again. Today, I notice when I went back to the group, that the post I was most interested in has been removed. Oh well. This site was started by a Brigham Young University alum, and has many Latter-day Saint members on it. Most of the posters appear to be deeply religious church members.

The removed post was part of a string, where one poster (who was not LDS) mentioned that some of the language and content of the other posters wasn't especially Christian or religious, i.e., the language was intemperate and could be characterized as being either bigoted or hateful. Another poster responded very quickly that the remark was a little hypocritical because, "Gays hate religion."

To be fair, the page creator respectfully requests posters to be mindful of their speech and to be respectful of others. Here's his complete statement:

This group is just to fortify the social networks for when the time comes to do what is necessary in protecting traditional marriage, whether it be to write state officials or rally the vote. We need to be passive to not fuel the anger right now as it is a sensitive issue at this time. Remember we are to love all and respect even when we are not respected.
Thanks!

Just an aside, not all gay people hate religion, but for those who do, they have cause for their feelings. Most religious groups kick out gay people, when the groups find out a member is gay. Religious groups rob gay people of their religious life, the groups hijack gay people's spirituality, and many groups condemn gay people to an unhappy, life (and death) in hell. Furthermore, the speech that many religious groups use is deceptive, if you hate the sin, in the context of homosexuality, you are hating the sinner as well. The speech from the pulpit can be a huge burden to bear. It often incites other members to shun or to even commit spiritual, if not physical, violence on gay people. I know this from my own experience as a gay man. It has happened to me, and to many of my gay friends.

While being gay (or as many straight people say, "homosexual"), can indeed be a problem for gay people, it's also a problem for people who follow any creed that purports to believe "Love your neighbor as yourself." The Christian version of this commandment is

Jesus said unto him Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all they soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets. Matthew 22:37-40, KJV

Most religious faiths have similar formulations of this: Do not do unto others as you would not have them do unto you, or the affirmative of the same.

I invite religious people who disagree with me about the nature of my sexual orientation (I am gay, I am homosexual) to put their feet in my shoes. Believe me, I've already put my feet in your shoes. I really have. How does it feel to have someone say to you that you hate them and what they believe. That's a foul charge smearing all gay people. Honestly, we don't hate religion or religious people. I do, however, get irritated by people who let their sometimes blind belief trump science, common sense, and the Holy Scriptures, and then proceed to carry on with intemperate speech about my sexual orientation.

The problem is stigma. It all started 5,000 years ago with, "If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them. Leviticus 20:13 KJV. That scripture and six other "clobber" scriptures pretty much have molded traditional Christian (and Jewish) thinking about homosexuality. These scriptures are almost always ripped out of their historical, religious, and cultural contexts, and applied willy-nilly to gay people. One of the underlying characteristics of bigotry is that the people engaging in it (from its gentlest to its most rabid manifestations) can rattle off justifications for their behavior (clobber verses), but often do not consider the context of the justifications. They do not have a deep understanding of their behavior, and over time, it becomes a part of their irrational belief.

[A personal confession, here - I also have irrational belief and engage in irrational behavior. I have my own prejudices which probably border on bigotry. Just because I disagree with most religions' views of homosexuality in no way exempts me from experiencing the human condition, part of which is to engage in irrational belief and irrational behavior.]

Many religious people let their irrational beliefs about homosexuality color their feelings about gay people. That coloring is called stigma. Your stigmatization of me effectively makes me less a person than you, and by inference less than your humanity. I'm not a real person in your eyes. I know these may be difficult words for you to read. And I know that you may feel offended, disgusted, saddened, or angry. I know that you may not believe my words. I also know, that you have felt stigma because of your religious beliefs and practices. You are marked and mocked by other people (like me) because of what you believe. I know that you have felt emotional pain, ostracism, and conflict with the outside world because of your beliefs. I know how much that hurts.

I invite you to examine some of the stigmatization that I live with, stuff that I hear and experience all the time. What follows isn't pretty, and may seem offensive, but again, I ask you to get into my shoes, and my skin, and be open to that experience. Please.

I am a homosexual who really deserves less than straight people. This stigma is stated in explicit terms with the phrase, Gays want special rights, not human rights. When a person utters this phrase, the first thing it does is rob gay people of their humanity, because the speaker is saying that gay people are not human. It implies that special rights are privileges, and privileges that "normal" (straight) people don't have. Here are the "human rights" that straight people regard as their own (any may not even think about): freedom from bullying and violence, non-discrimination in housing and employment, the freedom to love (and marry) someone, the right to speak out on public issues. Here are the "special privileges" to which homosexuals aspire: freedom from bullying and violence, non-discrimination in housing and employment, the freedom to love (and marry) someone, the right to speak out on public issues. I know this, because I am a gay man who aspires to these human rights.

Why do I feel stigmatized by this attitude of feeling less than straight people? Let me give you a few For Examples from my own life.

• Example 1. I listened to Fag Jokes at work for many years, afraid to speak up, because I felt that my co-workers would think less of me.
• Example 2. I couldn't be open with co-workers about my partner, or about my life outside of work. Where other people would come in and tell me about their weekend, all I could do was to say, "Fascinating!" I was mentally and socially constrained by my stigma.
• Example 3. When I finally did tell a colleague that I was gay, he promptly went to Employee Resources and claimed that I was offending him, and that he no longer wanted to work with me. (When he asked my about my weekend, I got up the courage to say that I had gone to a gay bar. That's it! He was totally disgusted) Needless to say, experiences like this confirmed the stigma.
• Example 4. I was fired from another job because I knew two other gay people at the company, who ratted on me to Human Resources/Legal. The two gay people were afraid that I'd tell other employees that they were gay. See how insidious this stigmatization grows? While I had no intention of telling anybody that anybody else was gay, another gay person ratted on me, and I got fired. That was difficult to take.

This particular stigma has real consequences, affects real people, and stunts the lives of others. It is a very uncomfortable stigma with which to live.

Gay people deserve what happens to them, because they choose to live that way. This is a difficult stigma to shake, because deep down, many religious people appear to feel that homosexuality is such an immoral aberration that gay people couldn't possibly choose to live that way.

First of all, if you read the sacred texts with an open heart and a mind wanting to know the truth, and you study the historical, cultural, and religious context of those texts, you'll find that the assertion of immorality often made by religious people isn't nearly so cut and dried as many of those people assert it. So please, I pray, reread the "clobber verses" and study them with an inquiring mind wanting to know your Creator's will.

Secondly, so what if I did choose to live the homosexual life? Democrats choose to live the "Democrat" life. Baptists choose to live the "Baptist" life. I am guessing that part of the reason the stigma of choice remains so important to religious, straight people is because of their misunderstanding and demonization of gay sexual practices. Admittedly, some of those practices are pretty weird. But, you don't hear gay people talking about straight people choosing to be straight, and you don't usually find gay people critiquing straight sexual practices (Dan Savage, aside). Why? Because sexual practice is in the realm of private conduct, and it should stay there. Frankly, gay sex is very similar to straight sex, more than either gay or straight people want to think. Straight people have straight sex with other straight people all the time, and don't get accused that they are choosing to be straight.

Finally, choice is a curious word. Let's put it in the context of a gay person, "choosing" to be gay. Here's what that person is often choosing: opprobrium from family and former friends, bullying and physical violence, and social ostracism, to name a few things. Think about it: people don't choose to live a life like this. Instead, a life like this often finds gay people because we have an intrinsic and innate need to behave congruently with our feelings and our attractions, just as straight people have an intrinsic and innate need to behave congruently with their feelings and attractions. Gay people don't choose to be gay any more than straight people choose to be straight. Any other conclusion is unsupportable by scientific, cultural, and moral evidence.

Here's a couple of examples of the affect of this stigmatization in my own personal life:

• Example 5. Because I chose to be gay and deserved what I got, a man stopped his car in an intersection, accosted me in the crosswalk, started kicking and beating me, screamed that I was a f**king faggot, told me he was going to kill me, jammed me against the stanchion of a traffic signal, well, you get the point. The only thing that saved me was a straight couple who ran up the sidewalk after my assailant. He jumped in his car, and sped off. I ended up with black eyes, broken ribs, and multiple bruises. I'm convinced my assailant meant to murder me. I deserved all of that because I chose to be gay. And what was my gay choice that day? I was walking down the sidewalk in a gay neighborhood, wearing a leather jacket, on my way to buy a birthday card for my five-year old son.
• Example 6. I was in a Bible study at work. The leader of the Bible study asked me to leave the group, saying that because I was homosexual, it was very disturbing and disruptive to the other members of the group. But if I repented, and chose not to be gay (meaning, I guess, that I was choosing to be straight), that after a period of repentance and forgiveness, I could rejoin the group. The affect of this stigmatization on me was devastating. In effect, God was kicking me out. The leader, a well-meaning Christian was robbing me of a rich spiritual experience, and was trying to extort my soul. He was doing it out of his best intentions because he knew that homosexuality is a choice. Except that it isn't, and his behavior broke my heart.

I ended up with broken bones and a broken heart because I chose to be gay.

God Hates Fags! This particular stigmatization comes out of a certain mean-spirited fundamentalism masquerading as human kindness. Yes, I know that Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church are extreme caricatures of faith, but I don't see a lot of religious people, like you, protesting their hateful speech and vitriolic phlegm. Go to Fred's web site, and read and see gay stigmatization at its most reprehensible. It's disgusting. It's hateful. It's an Old Testament God (who wrote Leviticus) untempered by the life, acts, and teachings of his Son, Jesus Christ. What Would Jesus Do? It certainly would not be what Fred Phelps does.

One of the reasons I ended up with broken bones and a broken heart, (not to mention fired from my job), is because good religious people believe what Fred Phelps teaches. These good people believed that God Hates Fags, so they could do evil to me. And I believed, at one time in my life, that God Hates Fags, and I hated myself, too. Stigma hurts. It hurts those who practice stigma, and it hurts those who carry its burden. In fact stigma makes religious people less Godly, and it has the power to make gay people afraid, injured, friendless, and unemployed.

Thank you for spending some time in my shoes, well boots, actually. I'm grateful that you gave me the opportunity.

Spring Fling

As most of you know, Ron and I took a trip through the Deep South. It included major stops in Alabama, Mississippi, and an interesting look at a Kentucky town, and a Cave of Mystery. (I just wrote that to build suspense.) I also had an opportunity to eat a fair amount of barbeque, an endeavor that deserves a trip solely devoted to that task.

It took us two days to get to the gay campground which hosted the CMEN (California Men Enjoying Nature) Gathering. About a hundred guys showed up at one time or another, including Ron and me. We had a very gay week during which Ron's sore throat got worse, and I got a sinus infection, but that does not stop intrepid travelers.

After the gathering, we head down to Florida and drove through the Panhandle, then crossed Alabama's Panhandle, and ended up in Mississippi. We stayed our first night in Mississippi in Hattiesburg. We had a bodacious meal at the local Outback. I tell you, even though the restaurant is a chain, we got the full Mississippi treatment. I was impressed. The next day we arrived in Southaven, Mississippi, and visited with Ron's Mom and sister (and dog) for a few days.

From the northwest corner of Mississippi, we headed around Memphis, and crossed Tennessee, south to north, passing Bucknsort along the way. That night we stayed in Bowling Green, Kentucky. We had a memorable evening in Bowling Green. We walked around the town square, and had a good meal right on the square. From there we took a walk toward the university, and ran into some students playing game on the sidewalk. The game, of course, is Kentucky Cornhole, which is very different from Idaho Cornhole. It helps to be drunk when playing this game (which is why the college kids were doing okay at it). We weren't, but threw a couple of beanbags just for the bragging rights of doing some cornholing in Kentucky.

One of the students suggested a walking tour, which we took. Lots of pretty houses, but a very quiet town.

The next day we headed up to Mammoth Caves. Wow. What a big hole! It's the largest cave in the world: 367 miles on six levels, or something like that. We had a Kentucky native who loves this cave as a tour guide. He's truly an asset to the Park Service. It was a country pleasure hearing his stories, and a wonderful tour.

The rest of that day, we high-tailed it to Ashland, on the eastern edge of the state, and stayed at yet another Fairfield Inn. We stayed at a number of them on our trip. Moderately priced. Great beds. Nice people.

It's no longer Fly Over Land; it's Drive Thru Land, not just for the KFCs and Burger Kings, but for the righteous experience of seeing the beautiful land unfold in front of you, mile after mile. It's about as close as I'm going to get to heaven.

So How Well Do You Know Happy?

So I did this silly quiz on Facebook. How well do you know me?

1. What is Happy's favorite food?
1. Fried Potatoes
2. Potato Salad
3. Mashed Potatoes
4. Baked Potatoes
5. Scalloped Potatoes

Obviously, I like potatoes, but what kind of potatoes. It's actually pretty much a toss-up between Happy's Famous Potato Salad, and Happy's Fried Potatoes, but the potato salad edges out the fried potatoes. The Scalloped Potatoes (March 8, 2009) are pretty wicked, too.

2. What is Happy's favorite activity?
1. Bronc Riding
2. Jello Wrestling
3. Oboe Playing
4. Potato Cooking
5. Square Dancing

Okay, I threw this in as a bonus answer. If you missed this answer (Square Dancing), you really don't know me.

3. Who does Happy most admire?
1. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
2. Abraham Lincoln
3. Mahatma Gandhi
4. Harvey Milk
5. Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

Truth be known, I admire all of these people. I've read their biographies and was moved by their stories. One of these men aspired to the be very least among all, and lead his nation to independence through his sheer moral authority. Come to think of it, all of these men had tremendous moral authority. My answer is Mahatma Gandhi.

4. Which place does Happy consider his hometown?
1. Normal, IL
2. Moscow, ID
3. Potlatch, ID
4. Kennewick, WA
5. Wheaton, MD

All of these places I would feel privileged to have as my hometown. They all played an important part in my growing up and my life. Moscow, though, is where I grew up and first started exploring my world. My favorite newspaper headline comes from Normal: "Normal Man Marries Oblong Woman." Oblong is a little town in Illinois.

5. What did Happy want to be when he grew up?
1. President of the United States
2. a Medical Missionary
3. a Chef
4. an Astronaut
5. a Lawyer

At one time or another, I wanted to be all of these things (except an astronaut). But the one that really rang my chimes was medical missionary. I read a biography of Dr. Albert Schweitzer when I was eight or so, and I was hooked.

6. What is Happy's secret desire?
1. to dance C3A
2. to visit Thailand
3. to marry Ron
4. to master Portuguese
5. to move to New Mexico

I've discussed all of these with friends and hangers on at one time or another, but the one thing I'd really like to do is to master Portuguese. I guess it's now no longer a secret desire.

7. What most informs Happy's spirituality?
1. Radical Faerieism
2. Mormonism
3. Episcopalianism
4. Buddhism
5. The Big Bang Theory

All of these, with the exception of Buddhism have influenced my spirituality, and I think that all of these have important values, but the one that has mostly affected me is the Big Bang Theory (and not the TV show, although it is great television, and Ron reminds me of Sheldon. I can't wait for the second season to come out on DVD). Belief is an explanation of the inexplicable, and I believe the Big Bang Theory best explains that.

8. Happy considers himself:
1. a Control Queen
2. Machiavellian
3. Laid Back
4. Analytical
5. Cautious

This is a trick question. I'm asking this from my interior perspective. And I really do consider myself "Laid Back" no matter what the objective evidence shows.

9. Which of the following is false?
1. Happy's Mom is his Aunt.
2. Happy's first cousin is his twin brother.
3. Happy's grandpa is his first cousin twice removed.
4. Happy's Father's name is John.
5. Happy's brother's name is John.

This question is really better if you use the name my Mom calls me: John, rather than Happy. I really have a brother named John, which is why I like the name, Happy. And my Mom really is my Aunt, but my Father's name is Vernon.

10. Happy is seen around town driving:
1. a Toyota Prius
2. a Toyota Corolla
3. a Chevrolet Impala
4. a Volkswagen Golf
5. an Infiniti G35

When I got married, we drove around in a Chevy Impala. Since coming to DC, I've driven both a Toyota Corolla, and an Infiniti, but I'm now prowling the streets with a Prius. Get the GPS installled. Ron and I talk to its disembodied voice, "Turn right at next corner then turn right...."

Now you pretty much know everything there is to know about me, and then some. After making up this quiz, then rereading it, I realize that nothing and everything has changed. It was a fun little exercise, and I hope you enjoyed it, too.

Remember When?

Remember when it was great to be gay because you could avoid the draft, you couldn't get married, and you didn't have kids? And we didn't think a second thought about it. Oh, how much forty years makes a difference. We're too quick to walk away from those early days. We dreamed a gay revolution, but woke up in the straight suburbs. We left many of our gay principles behind, and we should re-examine them, because adopting straight institutions and values can lead us astray, and it never makes us straight.

Although "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" is an offensive and unfair policy, repealing it doesn't speak to the issues of the role of the military in our society, and the role that gay people should play within that military and the larger society. Our society lacks a highly visible critique of the military role in today's world. We are asked to support the military complex in its fight against terrorism and in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Gay people should demand an end to Don't Ask, Don't Tell, but we should also be critiquing the military complex. It takes a big chunk of change out of our pockets as taxes, and it sends men and women into peril every day for what? I read a lot about what the United States does, but not a lot of why. There is a lot of blood on the ground.

When I came out, getting married was not a high priority. In the 80s, the gay community had a huge debate about whether marriage should be an issue for us. I understand why people want to get married. But if it's only about the benefits, tax advantage, and inheritance, we're not being principled in this endeavor. Marriage certainly doesn't fit my family, and it doesn't fit the families of many other gay people I know. If the rush to gay marriage is about honoring gay relationships, then the goal has to be something more than about two people. Because my marriage to Ron would say nothing about my love for Tim, Perry, and Brian. And faithfulness and fidelity would have to be re-imagined. But I'm not hearing that from the gay marriage activists.

I heard a tale from Harry Hay that he told me in my living room in 1994. A lesbian couple who were friends of his had a baby, and wanted to share their happy experience with him. He would have none of it. He felt that gay people were meant for a different kind of existence than child-rearing, and he told his friends that. They were not pleased. Harry Hay had a special wisdom. Gay people have a different life than their straight neighbors. We should not give up our own ways too easily.

Drugs, sex, and rock and roll, anyone?

The Burlison Experiment

Over the past couple of months, I've been "friending" Burlisons on Facebook. I've had some very interesting conversations with other people who have my last name. Common ancestral names appear to be Isaac, Jacob, and Aaron. So far, I've found Burlisons in New York, Arkansas, Idaho, California, Oklahoma, Ohio, Colorado, Great Britain, and Australia. About 600 Burlisons are on Facebook, and I've friended about 30 of them. I still have a ways to go.

A Mucus Mood

I'm in the final throes of a sinus infection. All the crud is moving south. My head is stuffed with yellow-green gunk, and I cough, pathetically. We went to see the movie, Star Trek, and I needed a throat lozenge because my mucus was stealthier than the Romulans.

Ah, the movie. You should see it. Star Trek makes no sense, but doesn't need to. It's exactly what a summer movie should be: action packed where the good guys where Star Fleet uniforms, and the bad guys have lots of tattoos, the kind your mother worried about. Just be careful who you call, "Cupcake."

Almost Back to Politics as Usual

And by that, I mean we're a day out from Washington, DC. Of course, the world revolves around DC, that's why we're headed back. We're camped out in a Fairfield Inn in Ashland, Kentucky for the night, then the long schlep home tomorrow.

We've had a nice vacation, and it doesn't seem like we've been gone for two and half weeks. But if you add up the days, that's what it comes out to. I've enjoyed the trip. Almost all of it was on Interstates. That was okay for me. I've seen a few places that I'd like to which I'd like to return. We stopped at Mammoth Caves National Park this morning, and I think I wouldn't mind spending a few days there, just knocking around.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to Mom and Alex, and made it to Bowling Green, Kentucky. We had a chance to get downtown, walk around the square, and had a delightful dinner on the square. As we were walking afterwards, we came upon some (slightly inebriated) college students who were playing a game with beanbags and a board with a hole in it. We politely inquired, and before the end of the conversation, we, too, were playing Kentucky Cornhole. It's very different than the cornhole game I was told about as a child. Oh well, who knew?

Ole Miss

Ron and I have been in Mississippi for the last couple of days. We attended the CMEN men's gathering last week (Saturday to Saturday). We both enjoyed the gathering, and I won a registration for next year as part of a raffle. We're seriously considering it for next spring.

Thumbs up: small gathering where you get to know many of the men; laid back and friendly gathering; pretty good food, considering. Thumbs down: mosquitoes, though they appeared to be slow and dumb; a few instances of uncomfortable crossing of intimate boundaries; a couple of guys who took themselves far too seriously.

I think what I enjoyed the most about the whole experience has been the road trip. I truly enjoy pointing the car down the road and watching the trees go by. After the gathering, Ron and I headed south to the Florida Panhandle, eventually arriving in Pensacola. We parked the car and took a walk around a boardwalk in one of the many beach towns. The air was hot and steamy, but we got in our daily walk.

We headed out of Pensacola toward Mobile. The weather was a little stormy, but nothing that a duck wouldn't like. We spent Saturday night in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. The parts of the Deep South that we've seen look pretty much like what you'd see in Maryland, or Illinois. Lots of Chilis, McDonalds, and a hundred other familiar franchises. There are a couple of regional favorites. Sonic is a regional burger joint. Kangaroo is a service station chain. We ate at an Outback Steakhouse Saturday evening. The food is predictable, because you could eat it at a hundred other Outbacks, but it's a pleasure to sit, listen, and observe the locals. I speak differently than the locals, and I really enjoyed listening to the cadence and vowels of close by conversations. It was a treat to see the dress, manners, and culture of Hattiesburg played out in the local Outback.

Saturday and Sunday, we drove all the way across Mississippi from the southeast to the northwest corner. Southaven is the first town in Mississippi south of Memphis, and it's a different kind of Mississippi than one would find in the Delta (I mean, we are so far NORTH that we're almost Yankees here). Sunday night we had dinner with Sherry, Evelyn, Larry, Kymberli, and Kiel. Sherry is a great homestyle cook. She fixed us some wonderful chicken, white beans and ham, cauliflower, and fried potatoes.

Larry and Sherry are friends of Mom and Alex. Like Alex, Sherry is taking care of her mother. I see situations like this, and I'm grateful for my own good health, and hope that it lasts me for the rest of my life. Old age isn't very pretty close up.

Georgia on My Mind

Tonight, Ron and I are staying in Columbus, Georgia at the Fairfield Inn and Suites. This sure beats last night's Quality Inn in Statesville.

Of course, work on the outdoor pool that started at 6:45 this morning didn't help my opinion of the Quality Inn. I'm an expert on "budget" hotels, and Marriott definitely has it over Comfort. Oh yeah, I know the Mormon connection and the outcry I'll hear from my boycotting comrades. But Marriott really does know how to make me happy.

We had dinner at Ben's Chop House. It had the weirdest prices. Evidently, spinach is a highly valued commodity in these parts. I had a chicken caesar salad, and Ron had grilled salmon. I coulda had a $45 steak, but didn't. The Tiramisu was remarkably good. We shared it.

We also drove across the northwest corner of South Carolina. Being on the Interstate makes driving easy, but boring. So it's nice to get completely off the road for lunch. We ate at Tucker's Restaurant and Bar in Anderson, South Carolina. It's casual, but upscale. Our waitress had honey blonde hair, looked like an aging cheerleader (still a good looker), and the Southern vernacular fell from her lips in a sweet, comforting speech that bespoke breeding and good manners. How could I not have a splendid lunch? Seared tuna with a side of black beans and rice. I was not disappointed.

I received an email from my friend Jerry. He's on the ultimate bike trip across America. Read more about it on his blog. He and I are hoping to meet sometime this summer on his epic trip, either on this trip, or when I'm in Idaho later in the summer.

On the Road Again

Ron and I got on the road about 10:15 this morning, all the way to the Silver Diner. He had Blueberry Pancakes, and I had the Ragin' Cajun Skillet. After a quick stop at CVS, we were off!

Virginia is a big state! We took the Beltway to I-66, then I-66 to I-83. We eventually ended up on I-77. We passed through Harrisonburg, Blacksburg, and Roanoke, but you really never know it when you are on the Interstate. We made two or three rest stops (Hey! Quit rollin' yer eyes!) to stretch our legs.

Tonight we're staying in Statesville, North Carolina. I'm not sure what Statesville's claim to fame is, but it has two interstates crossing at the north edge of town. We're staying in the Quality Inn on Sullivan Road. We went out to Carolina Bar-B-Q for dinner. The sauce is North Carolina (thin and vinegar) and Texas Pete. Pulled pork, hushpuppies, fried okra, and a curiosity: BBQ coleslaw. Ron had barbequed chicken. I wasn't complaining.

I'm not used to the speech here. It's not what you hear on the mean streets of Wheaton. Ron and I probably sound a bit strange, too.

Idaho Holiday

I've had a wonderful time on this Idaho trip. The family's doing fine, and I've eaten too much. The Lavender Graduation gives me a lot of hope for the future.

Giant Sequoia
Shattuck Arboretum

On Friday, my brother, Frank, drove up from Boise, and he, Katherine, and I traipsed around the Shattuck Arboretum with Paul Warnick, the University of Idaho Arborist. We were looking for a site for a memorial bench to remember our Dad. We selected a spot near the arboretum's Giant Sequoia. It's a reflective, beautiful place.

Frank Katherine, and I went out to a bed and breakfast that we'll be staying at in July, then we stopped off at a coffee shop, because that's what you do in the afternoon in Moscow, Idaho.

We dropped Katherine off back at her work, then Frank and I drove around town, and stopped at the cemetery. As we walked through the rows, we read off names of many Moscow and Potlatch families that we knew, had grown up and gone to school with.

The cemetery is a mysterious place. We ran into a series of five stones, all with the same family name. On four of the stones, the dead had all died on the same day, in total seven people. Some mysterious tragedy killed four children, a grandmother, an uncle, and a husband. I searched the family name on the web, but couldn't find any information.

Frank and I also stopped near our childhood home. It's an old farmhouse that was built in the early 1870s. Notice that little tree next to the house. It was about half the size when I was living in the house in the 1950s and 60s. We moved away from here in July 1966.

Moscow Farmhouse and Doug Fir Tree

 

Happy Giving a Speech

 

An Idaho Gay History

I gave this speech on April 30, 2009 at the University of Idaho's Lavender Graduation. Ten remarkable students were honored at this event. The Coordinator of LGBTQA Programs at the University's Womens' Center, Rebecca Rod, welcomed all of us to the celebration, and the University's President Stephen Daly-Laursen gave heartfelt welcoming remarks. Below is my keynote speech, which was followed by Audrey Ebert's Valedictory, and the presentation of the graduates.

Graduates, friends, members of the University community, and family members, I'm grateful for the invitation to talk with you tonight. I'm touched by it, and deeply appreciative for the University of Idaho, for its Women's Center, and more particularly for the thousands of people like us who have graduated from this school.

When my father, Vernon Burlison, died in 1997, I wanted to remember him. He was an instructor and professor here at the University for three decades. He was also a pastor of a small community church in Juliaetta, Idaho for many years. He was beloved by all who knew him. I wanted to remember his life. I worked with the University of Idaho Foundation to establish a fund in his name at the University to benefit LGBTQA* programming through the Women's Center. I value the Women’s Center and these programs, and I invite you to support them, financially and otherwise. I especially want to thank Rebecca Rod for her fabulous work as coordinator of these programs.

Back in 1969, we were mostly homosexuals. Today, we're transgendered, lesbian, bisexual, gay, queer, or questioning, and allies.

Tonight, I want to tell you some Idaho stories, stories of my youth, and of what happened to me at the University of Idaho. It’s important to tell our stories because they weave a history of who we are and give us a perspective on where we might be going.

When I was growing up in Idaho in the 1950s and 60s, I knew I was different from an early age. I learned relatively early that I was a homosexual, but I had no idea what to do with that information. Because of a conservative post-WWII culture, as many of you may have felt at one time or another, I felt invisible.

I found out about myself by reading an article in Life Magazine, which had written about the homosexual lifestyle in San Francisco. The article showed pictures of men dancing with each other. I told my mother about the article, and she told me, "We don't talk about things like that in our home." That was quite all right with me. I was elated, because I knew, finally, who I was. It was a fact, another thing that I knew about myself. I think I was 10 or 11 at the time.

In junior high school and high school, I was the typical dork. My pants were too short. I had a very scary fashion sense. I couldn't throw a baseball or hit a basket. Football terrified me. Does any of this sound familiar? A couple of guys took delight in bullying me, but I was pretty careful to stay out of their way. I had parents who loved me just the way I was, and thankfully, they didn't ask many questions. I was smart, did well in school, and actually enjoyed PE, except for dodge ball.

And the girls, boy did I sell them a bill of goods. I liked girls. I wanted to grow up, get married, have kids, and live happily ever after. And girls liked me. I dated, but rarely kissed. And I didn't even think about sex. My mother told me that the only reason girls went to high school was to find a husband, and if I EVER got a girl pregnant, I'd have to drop out of school and support her, and oh, by the way, I'd be on my own, and how could I support a family? She had a lot less to worry about than she thought at the time.

By the time I got to high school, the family had moved to Potlatch, just up the road from here. I had a crush on one of my male classmates, but the sexual attraction was transmuted into this deep, wonderful friendship of track, hunting, fishing, and playing cards.

I continued to date girls, wondering once or twice what the hullaballoo was all about. I was popular in high school, but socially awkward. I later found out that the girls liked me because I could carry on a conversation, and I didn’t make demands. But word also got out that I didn’t make out or kiss, which probably should have set off a few alarm bells.

In my senior year of high school, I got engaged to Susan. She lived on a neighboring farm. We were in the same 4-H club. She was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or Mormon, and I was Methodist.

Times were changing across America in 1969. Hundreds of thousands of people were protesting the Vietnam War. Nixon had just been elected President, promising to get us out. We had watched the beating of protesters at the Democratic Convention in Chicago. All of us in Potlatch saw this, but it hadn’t really reached us yet. We were hunkering down preparing for a confrontation between our deeply conservative selves and the Hippie proponents of Peace and Love. It was a visceral conflict, and I thought those Mormons might have some good answers.

So what was my conservative brain thinking? I was thinking that I wanted to be happy. Like some of you, perhaps, I couldn't imagine a world where I didn't have a wife and children. In 1969, there were no places in Potlatch, Idaho that had meaningful information about homosexuality, and my high school Family Living Class certainly didn't cover that topic. It wasn’t something that was on the TV News. I could hum the tunes of the musical, Hair, but I wasn’t about to join the cast. The world 40 years ago was a very different world than today. It punished sexual deviancy. It was a world where homosexuality was completely invisible, even to those of us who were homosexual. There was no gay history in Potlatch, Idaho.

Stonewall changed all of that. Judy Garland, an icon to all of us who are "Friends of Dorothy," died on June 22, 1969. As a result, the queens of Gotham were depressed, and some of them were drinking at the Stonewall Inn when the police raided the bar on the humid, scorching evening of June 28. The New York City Finest handcuffed then beat up a bulldyke with their billy clubs. A large, quiet crowd of homosexuals gathered outside the bar waiting for the paddy wagons. Desperate and angry the bloodied bulldyke cried out to the crowd, "Why don't you guys do something?" In that moment gay consciousness and gay history were born. Her angry and despairing words sparked a three-night riot, which sparked a movement, which fundamentally changed how you and I see ourselves and each other.

I was working at the Potlatch lumber mill that summer. I watched men walk on the moon, and I read about the Stonewall riots in Time Magazine. It was a very short article. I saw myself, again. This time, I was gay, still determined to get married and have kids. Still in love with my fiancée, Susan, but quite sure that I was gay, and totally clueless about what that meant to me and to the ones I loved.

That fall, I entered the University of Idaho. This was a time of personal exploration, looking for moral compass, trying to figure out what was what. One of the student Audio-Visual technicians that I worked with introduced me to pot. I also started drinking heavily, more to enjoy than to escape. My Methodist mother was appalled when she found out. She and Dad cut me off financially, for which I am grateful. They cared about me.

During this time, I also took the investigator lessons from the Mormon missionaries. I was baptized a member of the LDS Church when I was 19, and my fiancée, Susan, was very happy. My Mother was relieved (except for the LDS part), because it appeared that I was turning my life around. Strange as it may sound to you, I saw no contradictions in all of this. Without a history to know and understand, it's extremely difficult to gauge one's behavior. There was no gay past in Idaho from which to learn.

I was also a janitor at the Student Union Building and the University Classroom Center. One of the restrooms that I cleaned at the Classroom Center was notorious. It had lots of phone numbers, and some graphic suggestions about social activities. I knew that other men like me were out there. I had read their phone numbers and their messages. They may have sat next to me in my classes, but we never connected, and it never occurred to me that this could be a community in the making.

I dropped out of school my junior year to save money to go on a mission for the LDS Church. At church, I was a Sunday School teacher and a Priesthood Advisor to some of the men in the congregation.

I moved into the Mormon fraternity, Sigma Gamma Chi, next door to the LDS Institute. One Sunday evening in 1972, my roommate, Kay, a member of my Sunday School class, came into our room quite visibly upset and said he had to talk with me. He told me he had just had a sexual encounter with his zoology professor. In a moment of clarity about who I was, I responded, "Kay, I'm gay, too." He and I had a torrid affair. It was full of sex, danger, intrigue, secrecy, and desperation. We were always hiding out from our fraternity brothers, and yet they knew what was going on. We were a scandal, and we were terrified.

Kay and I loved each other passionately, and I think deeply, and we tried to imagine a world where we could live together. But we couldn’t imagine it. Moscow, Idaho was not San Francisco. We were sandbagged by a repressive religious culture. And in the midst of the biggest social and cultural upheaval of the 20th century, instead of Making Love Not War, we were at war with ourselves. We did not hear stories of other people like us. We had found each other, but could not create a world in which we fit.

We talked to our bishop, our stake presidents, and eventually, I was told to talk to one of the LDS Church authorities about my gay problem. I remember Elder Henry D. Taylor well. He told me, "Brother Burlison, I promise you that if you fast and pray, and get married in the Temple of the Lord, it will take care of your problem." Did he ever get that right! It took care of my problem, and confirmed to me, more than ever that I was gay as a goose.

So in May of 1973, Susan and I finally got married in the LDS Temple at Logan, Utah. I had had a difficult year. Kay had gone on a mission to Brazil, and I missed him a lot. My mother died the previous December after a long illness. Susan and I had broken up, and then had gotten back together only to rush off to Logan to get married, because it would take care of my problem. She thought everything was fixed. I felt like a heel. But I really wanted to marry, have children, and live happily ever after. I just wanted to be happy. I wanted my wife to be happy. Needless to say, Susan and I weren't happy. We loved each other. We tried to ignore the elephant sharing our bedroom. I was gay. Ultimately, our love for each other wasn’t enough.

I continued school here at the University. My academic advisor was my bishop. He was very concerned about me being gay and married, and all that. 1976 was a very scary year for me on campus. But I finally graduated, much to my relief!

So that was growing up gay at the University of Idaho. I discovered that not only was I clueless, but everyone else was, too when it came to homosexuality. Nobody knew what to do about my problem. Everyone, even those who I loved dearly, could only give me really awful advice. The reason for that is because we had no gay history. No one was telling our stories.

Actually, there were two lights in the dark. When my mother was dying, I went to the student counseling center because I needed someone to talk to. The director of the center and I talked my way through the anger and pain of my mother's illness. Then he asked me if there was anything else. I told him I was gay. He told me, "That's okay." During the same time, another janitor came out to me (an incredibly brave thing for him to do). He introduced me to a staff member who took me to his room, and held me one afternoon. That's all he did, but I needed that more than anything else at the time. I was afraid and distraught, and he held me.

I went to graduate school. I got a job. Susan and I had four beautiful children. I was excommunicated from the Mormon Church. Susan and I got divorced. I was fired from my job because I was gay and a security risk. I moved to Washington, DC. I met Ron, the love of my life. I got on with my life.

So what is the object of my story? Gay people have a history. And it's not just a personal history like I've recounted, it's a history in the context of world events.

We now know a lot about sexual orientation. We know a lot about gender identity. And it's my earnest hope that we're learning something useful from our histories. But to learn from those histories, we have to hear the stories and understand their impact.

I belonged to a religion that ultimately felt so threatened by my sexuality that it excommunicated me and tried to rob me of my spiritual life. Today, people who are members of sexual minorities are still under grave spiritual assault in most organized religions and denominations because of who we are. The most heartwrenching web page I've ever read is a page listing links to obituary notices of members of the LDS Church who have committed suicide because they were exposed as lesbian or gay, in their local churches, kicked out of their spiritual community, and robbed of their spiritual life. Their blood cries out to us.

Today, even in the smallest hamlet in Idaho, young women and men can find out important information about their sexuality or their gender identity. There is a history out there for them, maybe not in the local library, but it’s on the Internet. It's not a neat history, and not always a truthful story, but the word is out, and for the most part, the word is, it's okay to be gay or queer, or transgendered, or confused for that matter. I invite you to add your voice and your history so that you are heard. Don't be quiet.

I want to say a few words about love. Love is a wonderful expressive, intimate, and creative gift. Be happy with that gift. Be open to its giving and its receiving. There is a joy in love, and for me it comes down to this, I choose to love someone of my own gender. We must be very clear with ourselves: it's okay!

I still sometimes wonder about those men who left their phone numbers in the UCC men’s room. I hope they survived the plague of AIDS, and I hope they have gone on to live lives of purpose and dreams.

I wonder about you. I wonder about other students on this campus outside this room who should be here, listening to your stories, recounting their own. You offer hope, compassion, and strength in what is a chaotic, difficult collegiate world.

Some final advice: find your own family. I have stayed in Washington, DC, not because I like the traffic, or nine million people being in my face every day, but because I love Ron. For twenty-six years, he’s been my man! Twenty years ago, I went to a pool party, and bumped into Brian, and he's with us, as well. Fifteen years ago, I met Perry at a potluck, and he joined our family. Ten years ago, I square danced with Tim, and he became part of our tribe. I love these men dearly and completely. They are my chosen family. My hope is that you will choose your families too.

Take care of yourselves. It's okay to be yourself. It's okay to fight for what you believe in. Don't let anyone rob you of your spiritual birthright. Be playful and silly at least once a in a while. Let the ones you love know how much you love them, every day. Tell your story; please tell your story so that it can become part of a rich rainbow tapestry as beautiful as the Palouse Hills as resilient as the spirit of the people in this room tonight. I hope that each of you has a wonderful life. My life has been wonderful because of the men and women I have loved. I do not want anything less than that for you.

Thank you.

*Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered, Queer and Questioning, and Allies

Back in My Hometown

Here I am in Moscow, Idaho. Mom and Katherine picked me up in Spokane after an uneventful flight from BWI.

Katherine and I went out to her studio. Although her show closed a few days ago, it was still up, and I got to see it. I liked the show because it showed paintings from all stages of her work as a watercolorist. It was a treat to see that range of work in one setting.

Later Kat and I had a light dinner and drinks at a Mexican restaurant. I enjoyed just catching up and talking. I'm glad she's my sister.

My New Camera

Sometime toward the end of last year, my pocket camera disappeared. I've finally gotten around to replacing it with a Canon PowerShot SD890 IS Digital Elph. I've already taken about a hundred pictures with it over the weekend, and so far, I like it. It fits easily in my pocket, and the controls are similar to my old camera. I haven't figured out how to do much with it yet, but I'm taking the user guide as reading material on my flight to Idaho this week.

I really enjoy digital photography. I'm not the best photographer, but if you take hundreds of photos, sooner or later you will take a spectacular picture. You just have to wade through a lot of bad photos. I always process the pictures that I take, and that's part of the fun (and drudgery), too. The picture is not what a camera records, it's what the mind imagines, and I have to add that to the camera's record. It's not great art, but it can be great fun.

Breakfast - That's a poached egg

Tim in his backyard

Tim's Garden

The back side of Bucknell Terrace

The Dogwoods

Catch me if you can!

Joe, thinking green