By John Hubbuch
Marsha and I went to our first gay wedding late last month. It was a destination wedding in Massachusetts, one of the few states where you can be married as opposed to civil partnered. Maggie taught with Marsha. She and Cindy had been together for 14 years, and had decided to make the other an honest woman. The wedding ceremony was a traditional one at the Rockport Unitarian Church. Oak Park was represented by Marsha and I and the minister from Unity Temple who officiated. Maggie and Cindy exchanged their personal, beautifully written vows. It was vey touching. The minister cried.
The reception was at a local art gallery. There were probably a hundred people in attendance with the straights outnumbering the gays by about a 2:1 ratio. Again the reception like the wedding ceremony was like most of the ones I had been to before. There were no feathered boas and not a single Barry Manilow or Bette Midler song was played. Two fellas were making out on the dance floor, but I'd seen that on TV and movies a bunch of times.
There was little nomenclature confusion: bride, groom, best man and maid/matron of honor don't quiet work. Maggie's brother in his speech referenced that he and Maggie had a lot in common including that they both like women. There was no bridal bouquet toss. The choice is none or two, I suppose. Everyone was happy, and I had a pretty good time considering that I didn't know very many people, and don't drink.
Gay or straight some things never change. There comes that time in the reception when you look out on the dance floor and the only dancers are women. That's always my signal to go home. I was happy for Maggie and Cindy.