First published August 25, 2004, in the Chicago Free
Press.
When I visited Toronto recently with friends we did all the
usual things: marveled at Lake Ontario, bought soap at Lush, gazed
up at the CN Tower.
And checked out places to get married.
My straight friends were giddy about the idea. They loved being
on a quest. They listed possible wedding spots: churches, gardens,
lakefront parks, a one-room school house where guests sit at
children's desks. Toronto seems to be a paradise for those about to
be wed.
My friends drove me by this location or that one. I snapped
grainy pictures on my cell phone to show the girlfriend later.
The girlfriend doesn't really know we're getting married. Well,
she kind of does. We've talked about it. We've talked vaguely about
how a year from September might be good. But even though we've
known each other for four years, we haven't really been girlfriends
that long, so a year might be pressing it.
But gays and lesbians can get married in Toronto. And unlike in
Massachusetts a couple doesn't need to be residents there. So the
idea of "Oh, we could get married in Toronto" quickly changed into,
"I'm getting married in Toronto!"
Which meant I announced my engagement to everyone I met. And
everyone I met seemed just as giddy as the friends I was traveling
with.
"Ooooh," said Amy and Michael, the friends of the friends I had
gone to visit. I had never met them before but the couple was
instantly smitten by the idea of a wedding. "How about the Carlu?
There's a round Art Deco room with a fountain in the center."
The fountain sold me. I ignored the dollar-a-minute rate my cell
phone company charges to call across the border and rang my
girl.
"Hey," I said casually. "How about the Carlu for our wedding?
I'm e-mailing you the link."
There was a pause. "I like it," she said. "It's perfect. But,
um, I don't quite remember setting a date..."
Oh yeah. That.
But there's something about being somewhere where lesbian
weddings are possible that makes one leap over the interim steps.
Like living in the same city. Or actually agreeing to be
married.
Nevertheless, I soldiered on.
When the toddler with us reached toward sparkly dresses in a
boutique window on Queen's Street, we wandered in. The designer's
flirty, elegant, floor-length shifts seemed like they'd be ideal
for - oh, I don't know - wedding dresses. I almost started jumping
up and down.
I tried on a simple gold sheath with a deep red overdress
embroidered in gold. Wearing it, I felt like a chic medieval
princess. All I needed was a tiara.
"That's lovely on you," the saleswoman cooed.
"I'm thinking about it for my wedding," I said. "But it needs
alterations. Do you have a store in Chicago?"
"No, this is it. But Chicago's not that far."
I tossed my head blithely. "Oh, I'm getting married in Toronto
anyway. So maybe it wouldn't be a big deal."
She nodded, arranging the bottom of the deep red fabric so that
it swirled around my ankles like a train. "Why Toronto?"
"Because I'm a lesbian," I said. "And we can here."
She nodded as if to say, "That makes sense." There was no
surprise on her face at all.
I thought back to how Amy and Michael hadn't registered
surprise, either, when they found out that I was a lesbian and thus
thinking about Toronto as a place to get married. Mostly they were
enthusiastic about the idea of a wedding.
And that's when I realized something about weddings that I
hadn't quite understood before.
Getting married is not just an entrance to legal equality and
government benefits. And it's not just a public witnessing of love
and commitment.
Getting married is a cultural rite of passage that validates
membership in society - it welcomes you into the club of
child-rearing adults, whether or not that's your intention.
When a couple marries, they validate every other marriage that
came before, because they are implicitly saying that this is an
institution worth perpetuating. And their own new marriage reminds
others who married long ago about the hope and joy undergirding
their wedding day and about the promises they made to each
other.
The enlightened people I met in Toronto understand that. It is
less important to them that I'm a lesbian than that I am joining
their club by getting married. They can relate to the experience of
planning a wedding - or wanting to plan a wedding - whether or not
they can relate to my lesbianism. It gives us something to talk
about that we can all understand and appreciate. It makes us and
them the same.
This is why the argument that gay marriage destroys straight
marriage is completely idiotic. Because the opposite is true.
Merely by marrying we strengthen marriage. We validate the
institution at the same time it validates us.
I didn't buy the dress I saw that day in Toronto, but I did grab
a business card and snap a picture. Two steps out of the store, I
called my girl.
"I found a wedding dress," I said. "It's perfect."
She laughed. "You know, somehow just you talking about all this
wedding stuff gets me excited about it. Maybe we should set a
date."
I smiled. "Have I mentioned that the Carlu has a fountain?"