Posted on June 26, 2015
Waldo's a people person, loves everybody. We're not sure he groks "gay," he's more of a poly-sexual type and isn't terribly discerning, especially in a state of post-play excitement, about who or what he humps. But like many Americans, Waldo's been waiting anxiously for today's Supreme Court ruling on gay marriage. Upon hearing the news he barked a lot and asked for a treat. Because he barks a lot and asks for a treat every 5 minutes we cannot be certain of the reason but we broke out the kangaroo jerky to celebrate anyway because who really needs an excuse for kangaroo jerky.
It did take us awhile to explain to him why nine people get to pick the specific Americans who can marry. When he finally got it, he said it would be like nine winners of a Pomeranian dog show deciding whether poodles are the only ones who have to sleep outside.
Straight friends and family called to congratulate us today, many with tears. It's hard to express how grateful we are for the decades of support. When Jack and I were married last year my parents gave toasts that brought the house down. We're more than blessed, and owe a huge debt to everyone, gay and straight, who worked so hard for countless years to make this miracle a reality.
But the ruling itself evokes complicated feelings. What was "given" today is a right not a privilege, a right traditionally enjoyed by all nine people who sat in judgement (not to mention approximately 95% of our fellow citizens). If we're still looking to 225-year old documents like the Constitution for direction on how to treat each other, the Declaration of Independence (all created equal, life, liberty, pursuit of happiness) and the bible (treat others as you would be treated, judge not, love your enemies and pray for them) offer plenty of helpful hints.
I always forget who said, "An eye for an eye makes the world blind." Probably a holy person like Taylor Swift. Alas, at the end of the day, it is I who could stand a sermon about loving one's enemies. It's so easy to focus on someone like a judge whose name rhymes with Scalia and wish him all sorts of ills. Then I look over at Waldo, like I do a thousand times a day, and remember the times I've gotten angry at him. Without hesitation or reservation he always forgives me. Waldo makes it look so easy. But it's not.