Sue's Story

I was having another rough patch in a relationship. Nine years of still not knowing what it was to be loved, and I wanted it so much. We were going to counseling, couples and individually, hoping to fix the relationship. I was ignorantly hoping to find love. 

     I was going to school, again.

     The first night of class I noticed a woman walk in. I watched her as she walked across the Room and took her seat. It was several weeks into the class when a classmate introduced us at a break. Sitting in a booth in the cafeteria, with others from the class, we looked at one another and said, "I know you. We have met before. What classes have we taken together?" This "connection" allowed us to become fast friends. I desperately needed a new friend to talk to and thank God she listened. We had our school friendship. She was kind enough to check in with me every now and again to see if I was okay, and we played golf every now and then with some of her friends. 

     I have lived my life with three different lives, my work life, my family life, and my real life. Fear of losing my family, mother, father, brothers, and fear of losing my job prevented me from letting all those people know me; however, I am a person that, if you are a friend of mine, I want you to know me, really know me. I had been carrying on this friendship leaving one important detail out. I was gay. This was weighing on me, but once again I feared losing a friendship. 

     One night we decided to have dinner, just the two of us. We talked a lot, we laughed. On a trip to the restroom I decided enough was enough. I needed to tell her. I came back to the table, sat down, looked at her and said, "You have figured out, haven't you, that I am gay?" Silence. And in a matter of seconds, I was heartbroken and sick to my stomach. I was going to lose a friend.

     After what seemed like an eternity, she reached across the table, took my hand, and said, "I have had those same feelings." 

     A few months later she told me that one night after a test she walked down the stairs and saw me standing there waiting for her. She was excited that I had waited. She also told me that the times we played golf and I would hand her a ball, she always felt something as she took it from my hand. 

     It's been 24 years. We have hosted, in our home, a rehearsal dinner for her son. A wedding reception for her daughter. I was at the hospital when Abby was born, and I became a grandmother. Several times I got out of bed and drove all over town looking for her son, after his wife called in tears. When they needed a home, her daughter and brother lived with us for a short time. Our families know each other: parents, brothers, grandchildren, nieces, nephews. We have supported each other through the deaths of our parents, disagreements among each others' families. But we can't get married. Our relationship is stronger than most, but we can't get married. I don't have the legal right to make decisions on medical care, funeral, or where to be buried. Don't misunderstand, we did pay a lawyer to define those things.

     We have family, children, grandchildren, brothers, nieces, and nephews. We have defended the family unit. You would think the life we have built together would be enough and give us the right to get married. 

     We never determined how we knew each other or where we had met, because we had never met. We were just meant to find each other.

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Buddy Lemontree's Story

I have been a groomsman five times. I have been a bridesman three times. I have been a witness for a wedding on the beaches of Hawaii. I have driven to be in a wedding on the lake shores of New York. I have flown to Texas for a military wedding of the southern variety. I have walked down the aisle wearing a tux. I have walked down the aisle holding a bouquet. I have bundled up for a winter wedding and sweat my butt off for a summer wedding. I was in the wedding party for a wedding at the Center of Science and Industry. I have worn penis necklaces and stuffed dollar bills into men's g-strings at bachelorette parties. I have smoked cigars and watched women spin topless around a pole at bachelor parties. I have bought everything from wine glasses to sexy lingerie. I have a shoe box in my closet bursting at the lid full of wedding invites and wedding gift thank you notes. Some fading with years in existence and others fresh and vibrant, optimistic and ready to proclaim married life. I think it's fair to say I could register to be a professional wedding attendee without so much as a batted lash and I'm only in my mid-twenties.
     And yet, there is a sad truth to the twist of phrase, "Always a groomsman, never a groom," that rings a little too clearly every time I take a seat to see two more friends take the vow to always be with each other. To always support each other. To put no one else before soon to be betrothed. While eyes tear up in joy to see two people I care about take that leap, a few of those tears are of frustration.   
     Tilly and I met, I believe, at a college activity fair. I was the fresh faced, fresh off the bus freshman and she was the over eager sorority girl who was trying to get everyone to sign up for her group. Being an eager young pup, I was willing to sign up and be one of the victims. Flash forward a few months and we were best buddies, sharing mozzarella sticks in the cafeteria and staying up late putting off studying in exchange for another episode of Conan O'Brien. Bu far from Will and Grace were we. One night at a college block party, as we were bumping and grinding to the latest Pussy Cat Dolls single, I let slip, "God . . . if only you were a guy, we'd be perfect for each other." In a sitcom, this is where you'd insert the sound of a record skip and a slow motion pan to her face as her jaw slowly lowered. Apparently, our hours of listening to Ms. Spears and gossiping like the cast of The View hadn't tipped her off. You see, Tilly was one of those rare breeds of people who had never actually met a gay person. That one guy from that one season of The Real World was the closet thing she had gotten to those of us of the rainbow persuasion.
     And here's where every gay's fear kicks in--the, "I don't agree with your lifestyle," discussion. She said she love me. Supported me. Would go to gay bars with me. But she just couldn't accept in her fait that it was ok. It was a bit like throwing the brakes on your mountain bike halfway down the hill. I felt like I'd been tossed off a smooth ride in a matter of seconds. We fought. We argued. We both brought points to the table. We cried. We hugged. But in the end, we agreed that it would not be something we could change each other's minds about. As the years passed, and Tilly met the boy who broke my heart or the date whose pants ripped when we sat down for dinner, she began to soften. She began to realize that in a world that likes to categorize, sometimes you just can't. Gays couldn't be just put in the shoe box marked, "Fags," and buried from sight. 
     I think the first time I met Will was when I bought him a shot of tequila at my alma mater's young alumni night. Tilly had brought her new man of the hour to the bar that night. He was everything I was not: Barrel chested, truck driving, and NASCAR cheering. If you sang, "One of these things is not like the other . . ." a child would likely point at us. Trying to be welcoming, I went to the first unifier of straight and gay men: booze. I grabbed Will's arm, lead him through the mudge and grudge of the local dive bar on alumni night and flashed Jack, the always stoned bartender, two fingers and he returned shortly with tequila, no training wheels. Manly, yet fun. Will smiled, clanked shot glasses, and tossed it back. The rest of the night is a blur of stale popcorn, fake glee at seeing people you could care/remember nothing about. I'm sure I said nothing charming or endearing to Will, but we shook hands a the end of the night, said we should do this again sometime, yet thinking this would probably be a one time encounter as Tilly would be on to some new guy the following week.
     Push forward about two years and part of that prediction was correct. I didn't see him after that night for a long time. He and Tilly continued to date, but careers and locations had put our paths in different worlds. I saw Tilly every few moths for our group gatherings, but the, "no significant others," clause kept Will and I at bay. So when Tilly announced her engagement and subsequent night on the town to celebrate, I was caught off guard. She had said yes to Will and they were going to take the plunge. So, as obligated when your closest circle of friends has never really met the man you'll wed, we made plans for a group outing. His audition if you will. I would be remiss if I said I wasn't half expecting him to drive a pickup truck with and, "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve," decal when I remembered he was from her home town. 
     But like her judgment of me when I first came out, I was completely wrong for judging him. He was warm, welcoming, and made us feel like we mattered. After several rounds of shots and a cab ride call, we said good night and parted ways. As I snuggled into bed with a gallon of Gatorade at my side, I felt the bed rustle a bit. I looked at my phone and saw Tilly's name as an incoming call. Figuring she was calling for the post meet up low down, I quickly answered and began to gush over how great Will was and how happy I was for her. That's when I heard Will laugh on the other end of the line. 
     Thanks man," he said chuckling. "Glad to hear I got a passing grade. I know you mean the world to Tilly, so that means a lot to me."
     Blushing, I stammered out, "Oh . . . hey . . . no problem. I meant every word."
     "So . . . umm . . . I was wondering . . . we . . . were wondering . . . would you be in our wedding? I mean stand with us. Support us? I want you to be one of my groomsmen."
     Here was a guy who I assumed wanted nothing to do with me. Nothing in common, really. And he was asking me to be a part of his big day and to stand on his side of the aisle because he knew this wasn't a gay issue or a straight issue, but a matter of love. My heart warmed a bit. If you asked me on that cold fall day at the block party if I'd be standing up for the wedding of a strong Christian woman and her small town, honky husband, I would have be my Golden Girls DVDs against it. But there I was standing, 6 months later, as a witness to their marriage. As they said their vows, I meant it when I said I would do everything in my power to support them as a couple. Because I believed in them and I believed in the power of change. I couldn't have been more proud to say that maybe even in some small way I had changed them and they had changed me. 
     I was one of the first ones they told they were expecting a year later. I was one of the first to hold their son when he was born. And it makes me smile to think that he would be raised in a house where Uncle Buddy was more than just that gay guy who everyone whispered about snarkily. He will be raised with love and support that knows no preference. Recently, the three of us found ourselves at a wedding for another friend. As the music began to hit the speakers, Tilly stepped out to call the babysitter and Will grabbed my hand and took me for a dance. Sure. Grandma Ethel probably frowned a bit, but to us it was just two guys, one gay and one straight, having a good laugh. Tilly came back and joined us and as the glasses of champagne bubbled and the band played on, I couldn't help but smile and think that someday we would dance like that at my wedding. Someday.

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RJ's Story

I jumped out of my car, anxious to be back after the car ride from Cincinnati. It was Thanksgiving weekend and I had just spent time at home with my family and my girlfriend's family. It was a wonderful time but, in true American tradition, the Thanksgiving holiday had already passed from my mind. A new fever had taken hold: the artificial tree in the back of the car.
     Forgoing my book bag and most of my luggage, I grabbed the box from the car and jogged as quickly as I could to the door. I threw it open, calling for Leah as I stumped up the stairs with the tree.
     I gave Leah a kiss hello and dropped the tree in our small living room. Scoops, our mischievous young cat, rolled over on his back and meowed at me to say hi. I ruffled his belly as I sat down next to the box and excitedly ripped it open. 
     I have always loved Christmastime, have always loved being a part of the annual ritual of putting decorations up with the family. This year, my first year living with Leah, was going to be the most exciting Christmas yet. The tow of us and Scoops in our cold little apartment in small-town Ohio were sharing our first holiday season together. 

     I pulled the tree out of the box, set up the stand, and promptly proceeded to put the top of the tree in first. Leah helped me fix it, and together we began to assemble our fake foliage into a beautiful tree. We had a third set of hands--or rather, paws--helping us out as well. The tree was not even halfway up before Scoops had crawled into it and was sitting in the branches, batting at our hands as we went to fluff out the tree. The strands of lights were of great interest to him as well; he chased after them as we tried to plug them in. And the ornaments? Well, some of them are still hanging but the majority have been taken down and made into cat toys. I don't go a day without seeing a cloth mitten or plush snowman ornament on the floor, showing signs of having been bitten and dragged around by little cat teeth. The star on the tree has been knocked over and is hanging limply, still lit, on top of the tree.  
     The other decorations we have put up have been turned into objects of amusement, too: I am convinced that Scoops' mission is to spread Christmas cheer to every corner of the apartment by putting items in every room. 
     I think I'll buy him a sweater or something. And in the meantime, I'll enjoy the glow of the lights as I watch Glee or play video games next to my girl. This season is something that has always meant a lot to me, and I'm so glad we get to share it together. Ornaments or no ornaments.


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