My son is seventeen months old. We're
teaching him (with occasional success)
what he is and isn't allowed to do.
No standing on chairs, no biting people
or cats, no throwing blocks. We encourage
him to use his fork and spoon, to
build (and knock down) towers of cardboard
bricks, and to pick out the books
he wants us to read with him. We say
"good job" when he pulls
himself onto the couch, or scoots
himself down the stairs, or gives
his friend a gentle hug. Although
it isn't easy, we're trying to keep
it simple. We want to encourage his
curiosity and courage, while teaching
him boundaries that will keep him
from getting hurt-and keep him from
harming others.
I know that it is going to get a
lot more complicated. Each day's headlines
are evidence that the world is no
less full of violence and poverty
and injustice than before I had a
child. Despite my longings for a world
dominated only by peace, love, and
equality-yearnings that have only
intensified since I became a mom-I
am always being reminded that my son's
universe is no more perfect than the
one I live in. So although it may
be boring to remind him-over and over-that
good touches with a cat avoid tail-pulling,
I am grateful for the refuge of easy
lessons, and simple absolutes.
At some point, he's going to confront
malice. Although we'll work hard to
teach him about beauty and love, he's
also going to learn about discrimination,
and inequality. We'll expose him to
art, and teach him how to plant flowers
and tend a garden, and we'll read
stories to him about bunnies and kittens,
and families that love each other
and have marvelous adventures. But
as he gets older, he'll also learn
about war, about men like Hitler,
about genocide, about rape-death camps
in Bosnia-Herzogovina, about the Tuskegee
experiments, about poverty.
Although it makes me sad that he's
going to learn about the ugliness
that happens on this planet, I believe
we'll be able to help him see what's
worth fighting against without losing
sight of all the joy and good in the
world. What intimidates me is teaching
him how to act-and refuse to be paralyzed-where
choices are mostly a lot more complicated
than picking between good and evil.
I'm thinking about the challenges
of complexity and compromise a lot
right now, because after five years
of being married to my husband without
the benefits that come with a marriage
license, we're planning a trip to
Massachusetts, to "legalize"
our relationship.
We didn't get a marriage license
when we were first married (in a religious
service that combined our Quaker and
Lutheran traditions), because we object
to the ways in which marriage law
is used to maintain inequality, and
to relegate gay men and lesbians to
second-class citizenship. Because
we are a straight couple, a tremendous
amount of privilege accrues to us
in ways that we can't control (one
tiny example: we can hold hands and
kiss in public without ever worrying
that we'll "offend" anyone,
or be targeted with violence). But
we figured that at least we could
forgo certain legal benefits that
are reserved only for straight couples-we
said we'd wait for the institution
of marriage to legitimize itself before
we'd let it legitimize us.
For the most part, our decision has
had little effect on our lives, and
although it communicates our desire
to stand in solidarity with gay men
and lesbians, I can't claim that it
has resulted in any tangible benefits
to the fight for equality. But over
the last eighteen months-ever since
I stopped working to stay at home
with our son-our legal status has
required us to pay almost $400 a month
for my health insurance. My husband's
employer provides health insurance
for the families of all its employees,
both gay and straight, but their domestic
partner benefits are available only
to same-sex couples-so we can't get
health coverage for me without a marriage
license. Given the very real costs
of being gay or lesbian in a world
that is set up to benefit straight
people, the expense of my health insurance
seemed like a cost we should bear
without complaint. But then we found
out that the cost of my health insurance
would be skyrocketing.
All of a sudden, we were faced with
the prospect of paying more than $5,000
a year so we could say that we were
putting our "money where our
mouth is" on the issue of gay
marriage. As proud as we have been
of our abstention from legal marriage,
and as much as we want to live in
a way that stands against inequality,
we decided to revisit the issue. And
then the Massachusetts Supreme Court
ruled that gay men and lesbians were
entitled to marriage in that state
on an equal footing with their straight
counterparts.
Although it is not as good as the
U.S. Supreme Court ruling in favor
of gay marriage-an outcome that we
believe is mandated by equality law,
and that we hope will come in our
lifetimes-we are thrilled by the leadership
being demonstrated by Massachusetts'
highest court. And so we have decided
to travel to Massachusetts, and pay
the marriage license fees of that
state, and get ourselves legally hitched
there. And every month, instead of
funding an insurance company, we will
donate money to an organization fighting
for gay and lesbian rights.
With a marriage license, we will
be joining a new group: the large
and growing ranks of married straight
couples who oppose using marriage
as a tool for discrimination, and
who reject the proposition that the
sanctity of their marriage depends
on excluding gay men and lesbians
from its benefits. It is a group of
people that we respect, and whose
commitment to equality we haven't
meant to question with the choices
we have made. But still, it hasn't
been easy for us to make this decision,
and ultimately, I don't know if we
are doing the right thing, or just
the easy thing.
As I remind my son, for the millionth
time, that he can't bite other toddlers,
or the cats, I hope I am helping him
learn to live in a way that treasures
the humanity, and integrity, of all
the people and creatures he shares
this world with. And I hope that my
exasperation at having to pull him
down from the table-again-will be
tempered by my appreciation for the
simplicity of the messages that I
get to focus on right now. Ultimately
I know that he will have questions
about inequality, and ultimately he
will learn that supporting his best
friends' family will mean fighting
against anti-gay bigotry. But mostly,
while he may not come to believe that
we did the right thing in getting
a marriage license, I hope he'll be
someone who embraces life and the
struggle for equality while understanding-as
much as possible-the complexities
inherent in both.
Kaethe Morris Hoffer
[email protected]
