Today, at 5pm, at the beautiful Los Angeles Arboretum, I’m marrying Will, the love of my life and partner of six and a half years.
I was 46 when I met Will, and resigned to being single forever. But on On April 3, 2008, Will saw me at a country-western bar called Oil Can Harry’s and asked me to two-step. At the end of the night, I gave him my number. Will promised to call the next day, and in a complete break from standard L.A. protocol, did exactly that. We had civil, slightly stilted first date until the subject of Battlestar Galactica came up, which was about to begin a new season. My memory can be a sieve, but Will remembers every damn thing, so we geeked out in excitement as he reminded me where the last season left off, and our chemistry erupted.
I was jaded, though. I had unconsciously decided first dates never go anywhere, so I didn’t follow up. In another gutsy break from protocol, Will called me on Thursday: We had a great time, why didn’t you call? I could have decided he was crazy (and I would have been a little bit right). but instead I asked him out. We spent every weekend together after that. I didn’t know it at the time, but two months later, on the same day I told him I didn’t want to see anyone else, our puppy was born. Another two months after that I told Will I wanted a dog and would he like to come along, and that’s when we rescued an eight-week old pup we named Lucas. It might sound strange, but four months into a relationship is a crucial time for deciding whether to go forward, and Lucas gave us something to focus on that wasn’t just about us. It also gave us a chance to see each other in a new light as we cared for and worried over and loved the hell out of that dog.
In November, Prop 8 passed and I became suddenly political. We carried signs at the in-your-face rallies. In December, though, I somehow got roped into organizing a peaceful, candlelit vigil for marriage equality. Will wanted to help, but he was a full-time student with a full-time job. I didn’t want to burden him so I asked for one thing: the name of the LGBT liaison at the Los Angeles Police Department. Will is Will, so I ended up getting three pages of notes from exhaustive interviews with police staff. At the moment, this confirmed bachelor learned the real difference between a boyfriend and a partner.
In the years that followed, we survived a full kitchen remodel, bicycled from San Francisco to Los Angeles three times for charity, and welcomed into our home Chloe, the other best dog ever. Then on June 26, 2013, the Supreme Court affirmed marriage equality in the state of California. That night, one of us (I won’t say who!) emphatically said, You’re going to marry me, and the other replied, Yes I am.
I want to thank all of you for making that happen. We’ve seen a lot of controversy lately among the heavy hitters over who deserves credit for our tidal wave of victory, but I know the answer: You do. I’ve put in thousands of hours toward the cause, and I like to think I’ve had an effect, but it’s likely events would have proceed just the same way without me. And it might have proceeded just the same way without you, too. But it wouldn’t have happened at all without us. If each of us had thought, I’m just one person, what contribution can I make — and many did think exactly that — then none of this would be happening. The chorus of equality might have been able to lose any one voice and still sing on, but our music soared because of the people who did show up. And who kept showing up.
I remember canvassing door-to-door for the right to marriage, and I interviewed one woman who seemed solidly against us. The conversation seemed pointless, until I closed it with the question we’re supposed to ask no matter what: “This may come up again on the ballot. Could we count on your vote?”
“Maybe.”
That stunned me. “Really? Why is that?”
“Because I see people fighting for it and I see how important it is to you.”
That was you. Even if you were just one in a crowd chanting a slogan. Even if all you did was share your story at work or bring your partner to an office party. Even if you just stood fast and said, That’s not cool, when someone made a stupid joke about gays.
That was you. So thank you. And please, wish us the best on this most important day of our lives.