My Big Fag Freak Wedding

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My best man. He's the best. (Photo by Josieminer.com)
My best man. He’s the best. (Photo by Josieminer.com)

We were married by a Bodhisattva minister who had to pause for all the cheers when she declared us “legally” wed. A great soldier in the fight against DADT sat next to my blithely unaware great-aunt. Our wedding band  — DFA-approved living legends Peter Gordon & The Love of Life Orchestra — used to play with Arthur Russell and Laurie Anderson. There’s ghosts there.

My new in-laws read an Old Testament passage about King David and his lover Jonathan that made my tux pants a little tighter. I replaced the traditional seven Jewish blessings with some of my all-time favorite poems and songs. When circumstances made my family of birth unable to do the delivery, our groomsmen stood and blessed us in their place.

I cried behind my sunglasses when my best man read Rudyard Kipling’s “If” as I felt my family double in size from the nuclear to include our beloved boys, then triple with the inclusion of my new in-laws, and grow exponentially to include every man, woman and child that had driven out into the boonies on the first Saturday in October to celebrate the formal, lawful union of two men in love.