You know how every non-fiction book in the last three years has been about the author doing one odd, life-disrupting thing for one full year and then writing a book about it? I'm reading one of those books a week for one full year and then writing a book about it. It's My Year Of Everything, and you're soaking in it. CONTACT: Dave Holmesfirstname.lastname@example.org
Hephzibah Anderson (which is a name that requires great concentration to type, no matter how many times you do it) is a month into her Year Without Sex. She’s dressing more modestly, and having more awkward dates. Welcome to our world, Hephzibah.
It’s too early in the book to see how the year is shaping up. I’ll get back to you.
But while we’re on the sex & love tip, the conversation turns- as it must- to the events in California over the last couple of weeks. As of this writing, August 13, 2010, Proposition 8 has been overturned and same-sex marriages can resume next Wednesday pending a stay from the defendants.
Good. Very good.
I honestly don’t know whether marriage is for me, since it’s never really been an option. I have a lot of thinking to do, which is good, because this isn’t over by a long shot.
But I do know this: somewhere in America, this very day, around 11,000 babies are being born. A few hundred of them will grow up to be gay men or lesbians (because that’s what’s programmed into them already).
Those kids will grow up in a world where their right to equal access to civil marriage will never be in question.
Those kids might never know they’re supposed to feel bad about themselves.
Some of those kids will abstain from sex until they are legally married.
Maybe just a few dozen.
Maybe just one.
But still, that’s one. That’s one more than when I was born.
If you’re Tony Perkins or Maggie Gallagher or Brian Brown or any of these busybody ghouls who’ve inserted yourself and your personal moral code into strangers’ lives and our state’s law: shouldn’t that make you happy?