A Happy Baby By Any Other Name Is A Happy Baby

When, several years ago, I was often asked if I was for gay marriage, I eventually became so uncomfortable with the audacity of the question.  First of all, if you’ve heard my comedy, you know that I’m not a big fan of marriage.  Secondly, I never had to ask if gay people approved of me marrying an inappropriate partner (which might be better policy than any crap we have now; I’m sure my gay friends would have disapproved of what I allowed to happen to my life), so how fuckin’ insulting to gay adults that my opinion should determine any part of their lives.  So I’d say something like, “Who am I to give permission to or to stop adults from marrying each other?” 

 

On a similar note, I would LOVE to fuckin’ hear some male presidential candidate say something to the effect of, “Abortion? Well, I’m not a doctor or a person who will ever face that predicament.  As a person, I’d like to do all I can to make it an unnecessary option, but as a politician, I’d leave that to the woman and her doctor(s).”  

And for separation of church and state, can I get an “Amen”?

The older I get, the more clearly I see, the more I respect my own vision and experience, and the more fed up I am with this sick, self-destructing patriarchy in which we live. I wish I had raised my precious son with other people who, like I, wanted to get out of bed for him, love him, sing, smile, and give him something to be excited and joyful about.  Whether that be gay or straight, romantic or platonic is so unimportant.