A is for Assholes and Acceptence

This week, things got hot and heavy. I really do try to keep my nose clean over on the social media, I really do. But when it comes to marriage equality, I don’t see it as a political issue.  Or a social issue. For it’s my life.

And those who know me on Facebook, those who come into my house, those I work with (not necessarily the clients I provide to, however, because teaching English doesn’t always arise to coming out of the closet) all know myself and my husband. It was one of the myriad of reasons I left my first teaching position. They never knew the joys of my husband. They couldn’t even remember his name.

So here’s that Supreme Court discussion going on and all the yammering going on with that. I’d not felt the love from the topic in some long times. So it was good to be reminded of how many friends I do, truly have.

I’m a conundrum. I didn’t have many issues in high school because I, quite literally, played the field. I was in choir, which had, believe it or not, a bevy of athletes. I was in theater, which also, every musical, shared quite a few lacrosse players, gymnasts and a football player or three. I worked in the science club; I was on the newspaper. I did not participate in politics and popularity, but I seemingly was invited to many events, and, strangely, there was very little crossover. Friends I saw at a cast party where not at the drinking binge of the football team.

And, at both, yes, I sometimes was able to hit on a jock, a techie or an actor. It was glorious. I was still thin, even.

I digress.

However, this followed me to adulthood. I notice now that I still have friends on all sides of the spectrum. I know Buddhists; I know Christians. I know left wing bleeding hearts; I know right wing flat Earth society members.

I hate them and love them all equally. I like to think I practice the acceptance I want in my life. I will not put them down. I see it this way. Can I really, really, change their minds? If they’re that pig-headed, what’s the use of arguing? Will my friend who voted for Obama really just give up the argument that gun control isn’t the answer?  Will my friend at church suddenly be okay with my marriage to the greatest husOtter of them all?

I’ll accept them, even if they don’t accept me.

It’s on this final issue that I noticed a bit of an concern—and, strangely, it surprised me. I’m married. And when it happened, the Earth did not stop on her rotation; there was no Westboro Baptist Glee Club outside the courthouse in Iowa or the church in Colorado Springs.

One would say that was queer, huh?

Yet, STILL, we must be a long way from acceptance.

Why the hate?

And yes, it’s hate. Totally.  If it were the opposite of hate, which is what they want to others to believe, but hate is really,well, just another form of love.

They’re my friends—but do they think that, suddenly, I’m going to say I won’t have legal protections for my husband? That I don’t really need them, they’re correct? That I’m willing to play second fiddle to what they’re getting, just because I like men?

I’m surprised how assholish this was.

They even turned on people who agreed with them on my social media pages.

So? What does it fucking mean?

I’m not too sure.

Usually, I go with that the person is gay and has been living a lie. They’re at the point where they’re so jealous of what I’ve got and that I survived the process, that their situation, false as it is, is killing them in some manner.

But, no. That’s not acceptance. That’s me being an asshole.

If I truly accept them, even in their anger and hate and non-love, then I can rise above it. I cannot be like them. Even when they spit on me. I don’t believe they mean it. I don’t think they realize that what is a political hotpoint to them is my life.

Arguing, however, venting, doesn’t solve the underlying issue.

Acceptance comes from deep within. Assholes don’t.

Or something equally and yet disgustingly parallel.

So? I still love them. I will not spend the energy to fight them on their ground. Instead, I will smile, hug and offer pizza. I will show them that we can all dance before the castle at Dizzy Whirled. I will see them on the terms we are still equal. Nor will I play them down. If they feel so vehement, all the better. But I will not poopoo their opinions, nor will I ignore them.

But I will accept them. Even if I don’t like it.

Like health food.

In fact, I need to do something they’ll never afford to me.

I need to not call them assholes.