This is my plea to all yes on Proposition 8 voters

It doesn’t affect you
The law accepts you
No one expects you to really feel this,
Except me.

Because it doesn’t affect me either
Because either of us could easily ignore this
Because clenched fists on Wilshire will surely dissipate
At some point in the night
And you can go on about your business
So this is my plea.



My boss wears a wedding ring.
Been with his husband Peter as long as I’ve known him.
The two of them are sophisticate eloquent elegant adults
Who have committed their lives to one another
Their union is as deviant as your parents’ union
Egregious only to the fact of death do us part.
The two of them raise two beautiful children
They are a family.

I show up at work after an Obama victory in the election hoping to celebrate.
Prop 8 in the back of my mind
I walk into the office ready to pop open two Martinelli’s bottles.

I see his wedding ring.

We pop open one bottle for Obama and leave one unopened until he can call himself a married man in the eyes of the state.
It is a tiny gesture that feels small and trivial and it is all I can do.

My boss wears a wedding ring
Treats his children with love and care
He is a father, picks kids up from swimming,
He is more of a father, more of a husband than most straight men and
He is forced to hide the pain at work that all he can do is not give up hope
And he is pretty good at at it
And I can not do anything but make minute gestures that can’t mean much.



The irony is too much.
A high minority voter turnout
Elects the first African-American President in a major victory for civil rights and
Votes yes on prop 8 because of Churches’ influences.

I have no slogans to share.
Cleverness seems as inappropriate as
Simply celebrating our forward thinking in this election.
I wish I could.
David I wish I could ignore prop 8.
Because before the results were in I felt proud to be an American
for the
first time
without conditions.

But it stares at me and
Slaps you in the face
That
Hate remains an acceptable political position.

It seems perverted how used to this you are.

I want to say I’m sorry.
But that feels young and naïve.
I am young and naïve,
So I say I am sorry.

I am sorry to my coworker Noel.
A writer, a mentor,
I wish there was something I could give you.
I can see you breaking inches below the surface as
We drink the bubbly cider celebrating Obama
And the drink tastes sickly and sweet.

You are the sweetest man I know.
A role model of how to be kind to other people.

I want to have an answer for their ignorance.
Help you find enough love to counter balance.
I am young and naïve and I love you.
As you search for love and dream of marriage
All I can do is catch you at the office door and squeeze you for a moment as
You walk out.

All I could do for Johnny was hold him.
A beautiful student dancer,
The hurt bubbles out of his tall body
I can see his frame shaking with it.
Pores leaking with “how could they do this?”
I stopped him in the hall.
“I love you,” was the only useful thing I said,
though I said much more.

Johnny is young. Johnny is not used to this yet.

So this is my plea.

Don’t let him be.

The slogan is not new and robbed of power by overuse
But still simple and true
If you are against gay marriage, don’t have one.

I know this one thing to be true.
If you are worried about how gay marriage will affect you,
Please understand this.

To David, Noel and Johnny,
Your life could not be

Less relevant.

There is no agenda with you on it.

You have Nothing to do with this.

These are my friends,
These are their lives,

You are not required or invited to take part.

All I ask is that you stop restricting parts of theirs.

This is my minute gesture to my friends.

To you, this is my plea.

by bobby gordon
Nov. 7, Los Angeles, 2008