(with apologies for the title to Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
(OKLAHOMA CITY) Ah, we've made it through another June Pride Month in America where we GLBT-type people get all extra active over our civil rights issues with who ever is in the White House and which ever political party is in the Congressional majority.
When the Republicans get back in power we can rest easier knowing that the bigotry of low expectations, a phrase used to hide George Bush's low intelligence, will be restored.
Unitl that time, our fierce advocate-in-chief, dragging both his feet, has managed to get through Congress the Shepard/Byrd Hate Crimes Law, but that bill had been bubbling for eleven years on the political back burner, just waiting for the right seasoning to come along.
And now there's the "repeal" of Don't Ask-Don't Tell (DADT) that won't happen unless the Pentagon's reading of a proposed tea-leaf poll taken among service members approves of mommy and daddy's brave son or daughter risking his/her life for their country but who balk at sharing a shower, latrine, or other normal human situation with a gay man or woman.
I never knew it was so powerful being gay or lesbian: we can stop the mightiest military machine since the Roman Empire by merely flexing a pectoral muscle or winking an eyelid at the right time all the while we're stereotyped as flippant and weak.
I don't know why homo-haters think we GLBT-types are so different from them. Isn't love and devotion the same for heteros as homos? Let me give you an up-close-and-personal moment from my recent life.
My partner Don and I had some relatively minor flooding in our house in mid-June. We managed to save the wall-to-wall carpeting and contain the rain water to the tile- and linoleum-covered areas of the house. It was a frantic time. What to do first: bail water or pull up the throw-rugs? But we had an additional problem as well. Don is suffering from sciatica and finds any movement using his back and hips to be very painful, nearly debilitating. But with the flooding we needed all hands on deck with not a moment to lose.
I married a trooper! Howling like a wounded bear and ignoring the pain as best he could he was getting books and furniture out of the way as fast as he could while I was outside trying to clear a path for the rain water. As the rain abated we were both mopping and wiping the floors.
It's a terrible thing to hear someone you love crying out in such pain and torment knowing there's nothing you can do to alleviate it.
How does this devotion make Don and me inferior in the eyes of the law to Rush Limbaugh who just had his fourth marriage?
Why do the sheep-in-wolves's clothing "love the sinner" formulas of the right-wing religious fundies, local and national, sound so false?