The Times They Are A-maz-in’
Change is happening, kids!
Just this morning, Bonnie and I sat at the dining room table and both of us signed a single Delaware State tax return. As a civil-unioned couple, we filed jointly. Woo-Hoo! Things really are changing.
In fact, just this week, the AP Stylebook, the bible for journalists and editors, etched into type the following rule:
husband, wife Regardless of sexual orientation, husband or wife is acceptable in all references to individuals in any legally recognized marriage. Spouse or partner may be used if requested.
Remarkable. But, just as striking are the things that aren’t happening.
A few weeks ago, Bonnie and I decided to stop for dinner and an overnight in Beaufort, S.C. (That’s pronounced Bufort, not Bowfort) on our way home from Florida. We’d heard it was a charming historic town, a mini-Charleston, and surely worth a visit.
As I made dinner reservations, I realized our visit would coincide with Valentine’s Day. Ding, ding, ding! Thirty years of alarm bells kicked in, making me wonder if a romantic dinner for two lesbians in South Carolina was advisable, or even safe. But I pushed through the residual fear and forged ahead.
On Valentine’s morning, we walked along the water, admiring the flotilla of shrimp boats, moss-covered trees, and exquisite antebellum mansions. At lunchtime we ducked into a small restaurant and ordered low country specialties like oysters and hush puppies. As we waited for our meals, I mentioned to Bonnie that my left hand, busted up in my car accident last fall, was less swollen every day.
“Look,” I said, offering her my two hands for comparison, “I’m starting to have visible knuckles again.”
“That’s great,” she said, holding my hands in hers, studying the difference between the two.
When the young waiter returned and saw Bonnie lovingly holding my outstretched hands he did not, as might have happened years ago, avert his eyes and walk into a wall. Instead, he smiled and asked if we wanted to order a bottle of wine. Frankly, I’m glad he thought it was a romantic moment instead of an orthopedic exam.
We took an afternoon horse and buggy ride throughout the historic district, then set out for our Valentine’s Night dinner. Would we be laid low in the Low Country? After 15 years of absolute diversity and comfort in Rehoboth, it was very odd worrying once again about how people would react to our same-sex coupleness. It was, after all, Valentine’s Day in a bright red state, home of the late, hate-filled Senator Strom Thurmon.
I’m thrilled to report we had pointless angst. Dinner was lovely. The other patrons smiled at us and we at them as we all dunked bananas and pound cake in our Valentine’s chocolate fondue. The screech from the kitchen was not the dish washer operating, but hate-monger Strom spinning in his grave.
After Florida we headed to NYC to visit friends and family. Standing across from Sardi’s at Shubert Alley, all we could see were billboards for upcoming gay-themed shows. The Nance, stars Nathan Lane as a gay British Music Hall performer; Kinky Boots, a blockbuster musical by Cindi Lauper and Harvey Fierstein is about a family shoe business saved from financial ruin by their willingness to make boots for drag queens; and the hottest of the hot shows. The Book of Mormon musical, with its gay themes, and a gay lead character, might just make it the gayest show on Broadway. The only hetero-centric billboard in sight was Annie, and we really have no idea about Sandy the dog’s orientation.
Later, in Soho at a new women’s bar, The Dalloway (a nod to Virginia Woolf), we found an upscale establishment in an uber-trendy neighborhood, with an elegant and well-lit sign. We heard that one of the owners is a former America’s Top Model contestant. It’s a far cry from the days when you needed a bodyguard to get you to or from a dimly lit, seedy watering hole in the worst part of town. It was a really far cry from the days when you might have needed the bodyguard inside the bar, as well.
Of course, as grateful as I am for the improvements, we ain’t done yet. Equality Delaware is hard at work enlisting Delawareans to help get marriage equality before the legislature in Dover. And I am joining forces with them to direct the play 8, in Rehoboth. It’s the story of California’s hateful Proposition 8 against gay marriage. We’re doing a staged reading of this marvelous play, with local and professional actors. The show is one night only, April 6 at Epworth Church, to help raise funds for Equality Delaware.
And the sinister Proposition 8 itself, which has been declared unconstitutional in the lower courts, is set to go for oral argument before the U.S. Supreme Court on Tuesday, May 26. If overturned, there can be marriage equality in California.
More importantly, the next day, March 27, Bonnie and I will celebrate our 31st Anniversary, and the one-year anniversary of our big fat Jewish Civil Union held at CAMP Rehoboth. This March 27, as fate would have it, the Supreme Court will hear the oral argument in the case of Edie Windsor v. The United States.
Eighty Three year old Edie Windsor is suing to overturn The Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA). She was outraged and offended, not to mention punished financially by having to pay a huge inheritance tax on her own home after her partner died. A surviving partner in a heterosexual marriage would not have had to pay the bill.
If DOMA is overturned, the U.S. government would have to recognize same sex marriages in states which allow it, and further, provide federal benefits and tax breaks—over 1000 benefits we do not now enjoy—to same sex married couples in those states. Huzzah!!!!!
Therefore, Bonnie and I will be with the throngs who intend to march on, picket, and otherwise storm the U.S. Supreme Court on Tuesday, March 27. We will loiter before the court building, carrying a sign (lovingly made for us by Gwen and Katie of Sign*A*Rama).
If Gay Marriage were LEGAL today would be our 31st Anniversary!
I hope we wind up in the Washington Post, or on Film at 11. ‘Cause we ain’t done yet.
Fay Jacobs is the author of As I Lay Frying—a Rehoboth Beach Memoir; Fried & True—Tales from Rehoboth Beach; and For Frying Out Loud—Rehoboth Beach Diaries. Contact Fay Jacobs