Hey Mr. Honey, I just got your e-mail of the conversation you’ve been having with the owners of the Bed & Breakfast in Massachusetts. The room looks great, and it’s dog-friendly, so we can take the little one with us. She’s going to have a blast driving from Missouri to Massachusetts. So long as she has her daddies with her, she’s content, so I know she’ll make the trip just fine.
I can’t wait to see her with a silk ribbon around her neck holding our rings. Your idea to celebrate our tenth anniversary together by getting legally married was the best possible way to mark the occasion. Who would have thought that an Air Force brat who was born in Norway and raised in Virginia, Pennsylvania, Turkey, New Jersey, Kansas, and Indiana would wind up marrying a South City boy from St. Louis, Missouri. God does work in mysterious (and kind of confusing) ways, huh?
It’s been a busy ten years, hasn’t it? I’ll never forget our first Christmas together when you bought me a ring, got down on one knee and asked me to marry you (then I returned the favor the following Christmas). We managed to get through that really lean year when each of us was out of work for six months. Thank goodness we didn’t overlap. We learned that we’re a good team and we pull together when facing challenges instead of drifting apart. Remember the 20 lb. bag of rigatoni pasta you found at the discount store? We got a lot of cheap meals out of that, didn’t we?
And now look at us ten years later. You finished your Masters degree a couple of years ago and are about to embark on your doctorate. Our son is in his senior year of college and still on honor roll (thanks to his Dads nagging him to death about studying). I’m finally getting my degree, and in the very near future, we’ll be opening our private counseling practice together. The blessings continue to pour in, and we get one signio di Dio (sign from God) after another that we are doing what we’ve been put here to do.
Congratulations on all your life’s achievements and successes. Keep reading those signios di Dio.
I love this story for the implications — that even when there are legal barriers to marriage, raising families, and living the life you want, ultimately those barriers can only go so far. Here you are doing it anyway.
Great story – I just wish you didn’t invoke god so often. It doesn’t exist.
I definitely respect your viewpoint, peterpan, and I will in no way try to convince anyone that a God does or doesn’t exist. Consider it the ingrained vernacular of two recovering Catholics if you will. Or think of it as a reference to a Universe that knows what it’s doing, or whatever works for you (including a reference to nothing at all.)
No evangelization intended. I just don’t have a good agnostic/atheistic word for “blessing.”
Even if you did mean God the way christians mean it your story would still be great. I don’t know where we got the idea that faith and homosexuality are mutually exclusive. And as someone who does believe – I’m so happy for you and your many blessings!
@ peterpan: I am an atheist, yet I found your comment rude and disrespectful to the author. No one here on this earth knows the true answer to what is, or isn’t, out there. That is why it is important to respect everyone’s beliefs.
Beautiful and inspiring.
Jeffrey – your life is good because of that whole reap what you sow, thing. You put forth beautiful, good, kind, warm energy and it returns to you. Mostly through the love of your amazing husband, but in many other ways, too.
I love you.
what an inspiring story. love conquering EVERYTHING.
What a lovely story…I got an end of year family letter vibe from it that made me feel like we’re all part of your family. Keep your love alive and strong!
@culligan – why do you need to believe in a higher power to make the world safe for you and make you feel good about yourself? Do you genuinely believe or do you just hope/wish? Why would you believe anything without a single shred of evidence or indeed a plausible theory of existence? I didn’t say anything about homosexuality and religion – like so many religious people you’re jumping to conclsions (oh, I passed my exams – must’ve been because I prayed!, etc.). I think it’s rubbish because it diverges from reality, not because I’m gay.
Given that there is no evidence whatsoever for god in any form it makes as much sense as believing in the flying spaghetti monster. Even if I had been referring to the awful problems religions have caused for gays, I wouldn’t be wrong. If you accept the major religions then you’re an accessory to oppression and prejudice. Fact.
@Brad – sorry, I should have said “most likely doesn’t exist”. I enjoyed the story and said so – I also pointed out that I didn’t like the mentions of god. How was that rude? It wasn’t a personal attack. How is saying I disagree with him and would rather he hadn’t talked about god disrespecting his beliefs. You’re buying into the nonsense that the religious use to defend the special place they have carved out for themselves.
@Jeffrey S. – thanks for your kind and civil response. I didn’t mean to be abrasive or rude and hope that isn’t how you took it. I too was raised RC and now find it odd to think I believed it all for so long. I guess it’s a reflex now to comment on stuff like that. Wonderful story though. Best of luck.
@peterpan, thanks for your follow-up. I’ll be among the first to admit that religion can seriously mess up a person, especially if he or she is gay. While my worship style may be considered Christian, I definitely separate spirituality and dogma. But having been raised Roman Catholic, there is a certain amount of nostalgia and comfort in the liturgy, and I do find some of the prayers to be very meditative. I no longer attend a Roman Catholic church, and did go through a very long stretch of years where I stayed out of all churches. Nowadays, when I do attend, which isn’t all the time, I go to and anglo-catholic (Anglican/Episcopalian) church. The liturgy is very similar, but there are significant differences. Think of it as all the smells and bells, but one third less guilt.
Each of us has to muddle through and find our way, and it is important to remember and respect that what works for one may have the opposite effect on another. For me, participating in a Catholic service is — in a very deliberate way — reclaiming my right to be a full member of the Church.
Before coming out at the age of 34, I was married, the father of a wonderful son, a member of the church choir, a Cub Scout leader, an assistant Brownie leader (for my step-daughter at the time) and a Third Degree Knight of Columbus.
After I came out, I was none of the above, save the father of the aforementioned wonderful son.
I’ve since taken back the good parts of my life where I could, and consciously left behind the ones I considered less-than-helpful. The biggest thing I’ve learned (and am still learning) to leave behind is shame. These days I make no apologies for who I am and offer no explanations for what I believe. I am who I am, and that works for me. It is important for each of us to find that real person within us who is the true core of who and what we are, and celebrate it, nurture it, and most of all, love it.
All the best,
Jeffrey S.
I’m not only impressed by but also very thankful for your insight. Your words are more inspiring than any religion I’ve heard of.
I thought I should add a footnote to my story… Earlier this month, my partner and I were married in Massachusetts. Since we flew from St. Louis to Boston, we left our dog at home (under the loving care of our son and his girlfriend.) We held the (blessedly) simple ceremony in a quaint town hall on Cape Cod, and did stay at the bed & breakfast that I mentioned in the story above.
Mr. Honey and I now refer to one another as Mr. Husband.
Today is September 8, 2011. My husband and I will be celebrating our second wedding anniversary, and twelve years together. We are happier than we’ve ever been and are going strong, perfectly imperfect and beautiful in our own ordinary, wonderful way.
Congratulations to two of the best people I know. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.
Love,
Karen