I met Colt for dinner. We talk about anything. I'm a bit giddy with him like I was when I dated boys. I have to calm myself, but it takes some time because I just love this guy. Weird, huh?
We talk about health and happiness. We talk about softball (girls) and baseball (RBIs). And when I'm lucky, he explains—with judicial authority—why this country is at the brink of a radical change for gay rights. Girl, I get giddy then.
I think he is a true believer which is odd since I'm the one who should be telling straight-man lawyer how things should be. It's me who should be pointing a wagging pointy finger. But, in fact, he's the one telling me.
"It is unconstitutional that the law does not extend the same rights to gays that it extends to straight couples," Colt is talking about surrogate parenting laws.
I did not know but a current case is hanging in the balance. I'm bad; I didn't take note of all of the specifics. I remember he said that the straights could lose their rights to use surrogates because the courts—or the conservative majority (which may be the same thing)—fear that this ruling will allow same sex couples as well as gays to use surrogates [sperm or egg] to perpetuate a lineage.
"If they allow the straights, this law will allow the gays. So, here's where the fight is," Colt says.
"That's awesome!" I pound my fist on the table. "It's like when all the boys were dying from AIDS, Reagan turned his head and no one cared until the straights started dying. Then and only then did the nation care about what AIDS was doing to citizens."
Colt is visibly alerted.
"This is what gays have always needed," I'm amp'd and awake. "We are a small minority. Until what they want is what we want, gays can't get empathy, grounds for commonality."
Colt shakes his head.
I'm not sure if he's disagreeing or searching through his '80s memories for some similarities between then and now. He begins to talk about how great it would be [for any lawyer] to present a case to the Supreme Court. I offer to help him have this opportunity.
"Let's go out and get me a girl to marry, right now." I pound my fist on the table, gently. "Tomorrow, we'll demand that Louisiana marry us. You can defend us."
"Yes, that would be nice of you," Colt smiles because he knows that my motive has less to do with getting him to a higher court than it has to do with getting me to a higher state.
"If I can't find a girl, I'll get a rope and a goat! That will get you the case before the court," I am thinking of the Faux news statements about how the nation's acceptance of homosexuals will cause some percentage of humans to want to marry any old beast of choice.
"No—because the goat can't offer mutual consent," Colt offers a trump smile, again.
After a long conversation about who will pay the bill and what significant things might happen this week, we part ways with a hug and a promise that we'll buy tickets for the baseball game on Friday. I head home and pass the gay bar. MacTiger's car is there, so I pull in for 1 beer. He gives me a hug and a few of us enter into a conversation about the differences between male and female bonding. MacTiger has a good friend who is straight. She talks about need for personal space.
"I want to go for a vacation without feeling like he [the boyfriend] must come. Don't get me wrong; if he walked in right now, I would light up," she says.
I get her.
I get that we live, today, with fewer gender laws.
We live without grandparent's social laws.
We struggle to find norms.
I thank the good Lord.
I opted to spend the evening with my straight male friend while MacTiger sat in the gay bar with his straight girl friend. And to complete the circle, Colt has been in the bar a few times with his gay (male) friends. Life is changing whether (us) old farts are ready for it or not. The questions for the next generation is, "Will you accept your right to be free-er? Expect it? Demand it?"
Colt's words reassure. The stand against gay rights has taken "a mortal blow." The proof is that a conservative Supreme Court Justice (Scalia) can't find justification for denying rights to homosexuals who seek marriage equality.
"Well... if the Supreme Court doesn't vote the way of the land, can you imagine the day they don't award us our rights?" I paint the picture of a drag queen ass-whooping. "We will riot like no other minority ever."
Colt sits back. He is alerted.
"They broke glass; our boys will break stilettos. And, there will be pink triangles spray painted across this land by every Zorro mask'd lesbian who drives a semi."
Colt imagined the worst that we could do; and, he smiled, knowing that we'd be righteous in our long-time-due rainbow rebellion.
We talk about health and happiness. We talk about softball (girls) and baseball (RBIs). And when I'm lucky, he explains—with judicial authority—why this country is at the brink of a radical change for gay rights. Girl, I get giddy then.
I think he is a true believer which is odd since I'm the one who should be telling straight-man lawyer how things should be. It's me who should be pointing a wagging pointy finger. But, in fact, he's the one telling me.
"It is unconstitutional that the law does not extend the same rights to gays that it extends to straight couples," Colt is talking about surrogate parenting laws.
I did not know but a current case is hanging in the balance. I'm bad; I didn't take note of all of the specifics. I remember he said that the straights could lose their rights to use surrogates because the courts—or the conservative majority (which may be the same thing)—fear that this ruling will allow same sex couples as well as gays to use surrogates [sperm or egg] to perpetuate a lineage.
"If they allow the straights, this law will allow the gays. So, here's where the fight is," Colt says.
"That's awesome!" I pound my fist on the table. "It's like when all the boys were dying from AIDS, Reagan turned his head and no one cared until the straights started dying. Then and only then did the nation care about what AIDS was doing to citizens."
Colt is visibly alerted.
"This is what gays have always needed," I'm amp'd and awake. "We are a small minority. Until what they want is what we want, gays can't get empathy, grounds for commonality."
Colt shakes his head.
I'm not sure if he's disagreeing or searching through his '80s memories for some similarities between then and now. He begins to talk about how great it would be [for any lawyer] to present a case to the Supreme Court. I offer to help him have this opportunity.
"Let's go out and get me a girl to marry, right now." I pound my fist on the table, gently. "Tomorrow, we'll demand that Louisiana marry us. You can defend us."
"Yes, that would be nice of you," Colt smiles because he knows that my motive has less to do with getting him to a higher court than it has to do with getting me to a higher state.
"If I can't find a girl, I'll get a rope and a goat! That will get you the case before the court," I am thinking of the Faux news statements about how the nation's acceptance of homosexuals will cause some percentage of humans to want to marry any old beast of choice.
"No—because the goat can't offer mutual consent," Colt offers a trump smile, again.
After a long conversation about who will pay the bill and what significant things might happen this week, we part ways with a hug and a promise that we'll buy tickets for the baseball game on Friday. I head home and pass the gay bar. MacTiger's car is there, so I pull in for 1 beer. He gives me a hug and a few of us enter into a conversation about the differences between male and female bonding. MacTiger has a good friend who is straight. She talks about need for personal space.
"I want to go for a vacation without feeling like he [the boyfriend] must come. Don't get me wrong; if he walked in right now, I would light up," she says.
I get her.
I get that we live, today, with fewer gender laws.
We live without grandparent's social laws.
We struggle to find norms.
I thank the good Lord.
I opted to spend the evening with my straight male friend while MacTiger sat in the gay bar with his straight girl friend. And to complete the circle, Colt has been in the bar a few times with his gay (male) friends. Life is changing whether (us) old farts are ready for it or not. The questions for the next generation is, "Will you accept your right to be free-er? Expect it? Demand it?"
Colt's words reassure. The stand against gay rights has taken "a mortal blow." The proof is that a conservative Supreme Court Justice (Scalia) can't find justification for denying rights to homosexuals who seek marriage equality.
"Well... if the Supreme Court doesn't vote the way of the land, can you imagine the day they don't award us our rights?" I paint the picture of a drag queen ass-whooping. "We will riot like no other minority ever."
Colt sits back. He is alerted.
"They broke glass; our boys will break stilettos. And, there will be pink triangles spray painted across this land by every Zorro mask'd lesbian who drives a semi."
Colt imagined the worst that we could do; and, he smiled, knowing that we'd be righteous in our long-time-due rainbow rebellion.
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