Gay Marriage Will Destroy Society, as told in musical theater

I really am my most insightful at 0100. Late last night, or early this morning, as I was brushing my teeth, a song from Fiddler on the Roof was playing in my head. Figuring how it got there was futile, so I moved on to thinking about the theme of the musical play. That's when my mind made the crazy pants, midnight jump from musical theater to Gay marriage. I know, right. Musicals to Gays? How do those connect? That’s about the time my wandering mind fell upon an upsetting but undeniable truth. This schmaltzy community theater staple holds a stern warning about just what a real and dangerous threat to traditional marriage Homosexual matrimony truly is.

The big opening number of Fiddler features the full cast, the entirety of the village, singing proudly of the importance of tradition. [I like this version] As the story progresses, the three oldest daughters of the protagonist, Tevye, come of age and marry. Each in ways further challenging the tradition they sang about approximately a half hour before. The lynchpin of this chain of events is the eldest daughter, who defies tradition by eschewing the arrangement to the well off butcher, to live in poverty with the tailor she is mad for. It was marrying for love that rocked the entire community. It set in motion the snowball that led to the youngest of the three committing the unspeakable act of marrying outside the Jewish faith. This defiance found  her wed to her beloved, but divorced from her family. In an hour and a half of adapted for Broadway Klezmer music, a family is torn apart by breaking tradition to marry for love. If bucking tradition simply by marrying without Daddy’s permission can wreck a fictional family, real-life Gay marriage will blow traditional marriage off the map.

It is a tiresome argument that the conservative Right pontificate about preserving traditional marriage, and the liberal Left waste their breath trying to convince the Right that they have no idea what the words traditional marriage mean. Surely Tevye and company can be trusted as the guardians of tradition. The tell us that marriage is a business deal between man and a father, for the privilege of marrying / getting rid of a daughter.

If we take a look and the traditional marriage practices of the last thousands of years or so, a traditional marriage is a transaction of property. Asking for a lady's hand sounded much less "make me the happiest man alive" and much more "I offer a cow for your lovely daughter.  Two goats for the ugly one" Then bargain was signed and sealed. A contract. A marriage contract?  Yes. Such a thing was the bond of matrimony back then and is remains to this day. The Ketubah  is alive and well and an integral piece of a Jewish wedding and marriage. Of course, over time it has stepped far from the exchanging of livestock for women, but despite the PR makeover, it descended from documents signed to close a sale.

Now, let’s step away from all the Jewyness for a second, because marriage as business has never been specifically Hebraic. The royals of Europe were just as without choice in partner, forced to marry for politics’ sake.  The practice of betrothing a child even before birth was common in Asia. In fact, today up to 90 percent of marriages in India arranged*.  

Even in the Land Of The Free marriage is about money, or was until the 1960s. Women often entered college seeking an M.r.s. Degree first and a Bachelor's in something or other as a fall back. It was always hoped by women and their families that they would "marry well" What does it mean to marry well? A woman used whatever charms she had to rope a man who would be a good provider for her and her children. Provider, in this case, is a euphemism for meal ticket.

It wasn't until the Women's Liberation movement of the 1970s that marriage started to inch its way toward becoming a partnership of equals. Less than forty years ago marrying for money was the status quo. Marrying for love was the domain of harry legged bra burners, if they chose to marry at all. If the traditional marriage all those law makers are trying to protect are the unions of a man and his property or a financier and his whore then Gay marriage is a terrific threat. When heterosexuals marrying for love challenges traditional marriage, equal marriage rights for Gays will destroy it. It's hard to maintain patriarchy in a same sex relationship, but more than that,  Gays won't marry for money.

The very definition of Gay or Homosexual is loving someone of the same sex. The kind of love that can not be ignored or repressed for long, no matter how deeply it’s shoved to the back of a closet. For heterosexuals, love is a feeling, a state of being, perhaps. For Gays, love is identity. We are who we love. The search for financial security from a partner or hope of finding a sugar daddy exists among us, but these couples aren't the ones standing in line for days to obtain marriage licenses. This is what terrifies the conservative lawmakers who, in their younger days, married a swell gal though she married a cash cow. These older gentleman have come to resent their loveless relationships to the point of tapping feet in airport bathrooms and posting photos of their private parts on Twitter. They want what we have, so they are doing their damnedest not to let us enjoy it.

But we do enjoy it, every single day. Every morning we kiss our partners out the door. We read news apps together over coffee. We go to absurd lengths to build our families. We embrace at every opportunity. We fight, and we make up. We nag and we negotiate. We reluctantly take out the garbage. Our tastes in movies and music somehow meld overtime. We become fans-by-marriage of the other's beloved sports team. We warm up to our would-be in laws  We forget which box our Menorahs are stored in and create makeshift ones out of glass bottles. (Okay, maybe that's just my family.) My point is, Gay people are married in their hearts and minds and daily lives all around you. In states where it is legal and in states where it is constitutionally forbidden . And all of us are married in our way, out of love and nothing but love. The traditionalists watch us, green-eyed and fuming. They know that when marriages are bound by heart strings, the tetherings of purse strings are as steady as a fiddler on the roof.

 

TRADITION! 

*Citation - abc 20/20

The Higher Callings of Flowers and Chocolate

It’s Valentine’s Day and Facebook and Twitter are blowing up with statuses, images, tweets, and memes expressing more vehement oppositions than we saw through the entire election season. Single people are out in droves protesting the grave elitism of chocolate and flowers, baring their jealousy with fangs and herbicide  Sympathetic couples declare that it’s “just another day” and “show your partner you love them everyday.” More romantic couples are trying to convince such V-day haters to stop peeing on their Poptarts. Or in this case, Russel Stovers. It’s war out there people. Perhaps that’s why Cupid is depicted as an archer. But there’s much more to this holiday than the joining lips of lovers, and spitting mouths of singles. It appears that no one seems to get the point of the love potion tipped arrows.
Like most holidays, St Valentine’s Day begins with a legend. We like our legends here. It gives us the power of shouting ‘It’s just a made up bogus tradition” around any holiday or festival we are not fond of. Still, the legend of St. Valentine is one we should all consider carefully, before setting any Hallmark stores ablaze. As it is told, In third century Rome, Emperor Claudius Gothicus set many laws oppressing the Christian minority in his state. One of these edicts was that Christians were not allowed to marry. A minority group denied the right to marry by the government? Rings familiar doesn’t it?

Saint Valentine, who was Valentinus at the time, defied the Emperor by committing the brash crime of showing empathy and kindness and performing marriages of gay .. I mean Christian couples. For his troubles he was arrested and eventually beheaded. All for the sake of equal rights for those whom the law of the land prohibited their marriage.

Kind of a different perspective from let’s all eat chocolate and have sex while we point and laugh and single people, right? Saint Valentine worked in direct opposition of the government performing marriages the state had banned. Then he lost his life for it.


What would our reactions be if such occurred today? How would we feel if a pastor was arrested and beaten, and hanged all for the crime of acting on the belief that marriage is a human right and not a heterosexual privilege? How much would we, gay or ally, appreciate his sacrifice? Would we begrudge this modern martyr the honor of smelling a few roses and eating a piece of chocolate? Would we even accept that we picked the coconut one, because we celebrate the life and work of a person so important to ending our struggles? Do the Whites bitterly continue to clock in while only the Blacks take Martin Luther King Jr day off? Should single people curse such contributions and acts of love for those prohibited from marrying? Or do we all salute the overcoming of barriers to equality and those who worked and died for it?

It is my hope and plea, to all of those who decry Valentine’s Day to consider it’s deeper meaning. To understand how the actions of one man 18 centuries ago, apply so directly to the struggles of right now. Rights now. For all who hate or celebrate, remember too look beyond the pink and red, and perhaps see the rainbow waiting behind it. Look past smoochy couples, and perhaps see how that kiss will not seal a wedding ceremony for so many of your friends, or for yourself.
We have come far. We have so much further to go. Single or in a relationship, If you believe in equal rights, smell a flower, eat a chocolate, and remember the man who started this fight.

Daddy's Girl On Board

Prompted by the book 642 Things to Write About, San Francisco Writers Grotto - "Your Father’s Car"


Let there be no mistake about it, I am a daddy’s girl. It’s rather strange actually, as I spent much of my formative years rarely seeing him, but he always fought to maintain as close of a relationship with me as he possibly could. That grew harder when my mother moved me to Texas just before I entered high school. He really came through for me after a bit (understatement) of drama between myself and my homophobic step-dad. On 10 hours notice, my dad drove 1,200 miles to pick me up and take me home with him. He did it in a red Ford Ranger.

In fact the red Ford Ranger, a secession of them actually, is the only vehicle I’ve ever known him to drive, It was the truck he taught me to drive in. It was the truck I crashed into a tree. It was the truck he drove me to middle school in every day, just to squeeze in 20 more minutes with me. It was the truck I rode around in the bed of surveying his family’s farm, or driving out to our favorite fishing hole. It was the truck I lost all bed riding privileges in when I jumped out at 25 mph to see what would happen. What happened was my first concussion. .

Most important, it was that truck we drove around in rather aimlessly to look at cows or houses or other things that didn’t really matter, while we had our deepest and most important conversations. I came out to him in that truck, and he accepted me. We talked about options for dealing with my teenage pregnancy in that truck, and he didn’t look down on me.  He explained things to me and assuaged my fears in that truck, and he promised not to tell anyone when I cried. When times were really hard, it was the truck where we talked baseball and checkers strategies Where we debated politics for fun, and he told me stories of his reckless teen years to get me to laugh. It was while riding around in that red Ford Ranger that it was the most abundantly clear how much my daddy loved me.

It’s been a long time since I rode in that truck. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my dad. Texas to South Carolina is a long and expensive trip, and he drives a much bigger truck for a living without much time off. I am perpetually cycling between taking college classes or working to pay for college classes, so a cross-country trip isn't for me either. I guess I am lucky to live in an environmentally friendly city with less than efficient but very affordable public transit, but it means I haven't driven a thing since the last time I drove that Ranger. It's been about ten years. 

But a warmer sun is rising now. I am finishing college and en route to my professional career. Daddy is getting closer to retirement and joining his daughters in Texas. He's also getting closer to Granddaddy; my partner and I are preparing  to become parents. I know I'll never be anybody's daddy, but I hope I can be to my kids what my daddy is to me. Not highly educated, but very wise. A checkerboard psychologist, who knows all he needs to know about a man by the way he moves his kings. A man who never stops believing in me, especially when I stop believing in myself. A hanger of stars and a deeply flawed saint. As if there were any other way to start treading his footsteps, I'm saving up for a down payment on my own red Ford Ranger.

Daddy and Me

Riverbanks Zoo and Garden, Columbia SC, 2006

(The tortoise behind us is 100 years old.)