Today when I heard about the Supreme Court ruling for same-sex marriage, I tried to memorize the morning. The mug of French roast coffee. Michael Franti singing on my iPhone. My husband on the couch, reading sports headlines. A scroll of news on my computer. My 11-month-old son crawling on the floor, building a tower of soft blocks. It was so normal, so everyday.
And yet, it was extraordinary.
I wanted to imprint it all on my brain so someday, when my son asks about the historic day all Americans received the right to marry, I could tell him every detail: The pale haze that diffused the sunshine. The humidity that hung thick in the air. The whirr of a lawnmower. How history was just a moment after breakfast, when everything was the same and different all at once, and a cup of coffee was suddenly underscored with great importance, and I was joyful.
Then I realized my son might never ask me about this day at all — because he will have no reason to. He will grow up in a country where people just get married. No qualifier.
This is all he will ever know: That people love and are loved.
Thank you, America.
1 Comment
Isn’t this the way that so many of the most important days in history are? They start out ordinary, become extraordinary and in the end, for the following generations, are simply paragraphs in history books. Thank goodness Everest, my grandson Jason and all the children alive today will not have to qualify their unions. They just will be.