“Being in that space, watching these two people take vows, forced me to dig up deeply buried and uncomfortable feelings,” the author writes.
Warning: This article contains the author’s recollections of anti-gay slurs from his childhood.
Two-and-a-half years ago, I attended a part-Christian, part-Jewish wedding of two women in Charleston, South Carolina, as the date of one of the brides’ uncles. As the two brides held each other’s faces and kissed, I, a 42-year-old queer man living in San Francisco, instinctively scanned the room for disapproving looks.
Throughout the last 20 years, I thought I’d worked through all the oppressions I’ve experienced: secret same-sex relationships, being uncomfortable around other LGBTQIA+ people, engaging in risky sexual behaviors and the absence of a consistent parental figure. So why did these brides’ open and welcome affection make me feel so anxious? My clasped hands trembled as if trying to break free from my wrists, and a flood of perspiration pierced through my black tuxedo.