The Perfect Day... Again

THE PERFECT DAY (a poem)

She waits

crowned in bridal illusion

under glowing cobalt fruit,

twigs ribboned together

beneath cotton-colored clouds.

***

Harmonies tangle—

hollow echoes

carrying centuries of tradition

Mendelssohn's wedding march,

a high-tech rebirth

on electric speakers.

***

Sudden blustering—

lightning forecast

creating ricochets of thunder

ripping through cascades of rain

hailing Captain Noah

***

until she stops,

takes a deep breath

to tame her wild self

and tells it, Max-like,

to be still.

***

Floods recede—

music chimes.

a woman emerges,

her candy-apple hair

crowned in roses and lace,

facing the bride waiting for her

cocooned in swathes of white.

***

I wrote this poem about two friends of mine getting married over a decade ago. It really was a perfect day, barring a brief rainstorm in the morning that seemed like it might upend the festivities. But the sun came out around noon and dried up all the puddles, and the marriage ceremony and reception were full of friends, good stories, and celebration.

It was a beautiful moment captured in time in Massachusetts, where I lived for a couple of years. But it seemed at the time just a blink of an eye after the state had become the first in the US to legalize gay marriage in 2004. I remember celebrating with my friends when that happened—I’ve had gay and lesbian friends probably since the moment we all hit puberty in middle school. I never questioned it—I just knew I felt super comfortable with people who knew who they were and who they wanted to love. It seemed freeing, in a way, to admit to something so openly.

I hadn’t been raised that way. While my parents are liberal and tolerant of others, the house I grew up in wasn’t a place where freedom rang. It was unimaginably strict, and we almost never said, “I love you” to each other. The unspoken assumption was that love was not something to be talked about—it might be there, but it was a hidden part of every relationship. Something to remain under the surface, if it existed at all. And the idea, even today, of talking to my parents about any aspect of sexuality or my children’s identities is unthinkable.

To be honest, it's still hard for me to say, “I love you” to anyone except for my kids. With them, love comes naturally and easily. Perhaps that’s part of the reason why my teenagers have been so open about being a part of the LGBTQIA+ community—I hope it’s partly because I’ve shown them that it’s okay to be who they are and love who they want, even in the face of prejudice (which they’ve faced) and hate (which they’ve seen firsthand). But that’s another story.

I’m proud that one big milestone in LGBTQIA+ rights happened in California, where I grew up—I remember the “Winter of Love” in 2004 that occurred after Mayor Gavin Newsom of California got sick of all the bickering about whether or not gay marriage was legal and just said that it was. Thousands of gay couples flocked to San Francisco to tie the knot, worried that this loophole wouldn’t last.

And it didn’t last for long—in just a few short weeks, it was legally blocked while the two sides moved on to fight it out in the courts. This happened the same year as Massachusett’s legal milestone, but it would be a few more years before the same law stuck, statewide, in California.

But for every victory, tragedy seemed to follow behind. If you want to get depressed, check out this Wikipedia list of “acts of violence against LGBTQ people.” While the list is terribly long, it’s by no means comprehensive. But it’s a testament to how it’s become a simple act of bravery just to be oneself and say you’re a part of the LGBTQIA+ community. Existing means taking one’s life into one’s hands. And that’s pretty damning of USA society as a whole.

For all the hate, it almost felt for a while that we’d crossed some sort of finish line of sorts. That while there were still so many impediments in government, in the military, in police forces, etc., it felt like progress was being made. Gay marriage was legalized nationwide. Books and graphic novels were being written about being gay and winning awards. Characters were openly gay in TV shows and movies in roles that weren’t just about coming out but also about living their everyday lives. LGBTQIA+ was starting to be normalized, and it felt pretty damn good to see it.

However, it’s always two steps forward, one step back. The backlash came. The normalization of hate as opposed to love. As I saw my child growing up and facing puberty and telling me they were trans, I knew that we couldn’t stay in a country that was in a slippery slope to the bottom. After Roe v Wade disappeared, it was only a matter of time for other rights to be knocked down one by one.

Granted, the pushback of rights was only one of the reasons why my family moved north. I was born in Canada and my kids and I are dual citizens. Even though I spent most of my life in the USA, I knew it was time to leave the place I'd always called home. I couldn’t protect my kids anymore against the hate. When my child was called all sorts of names for being their authentic self, they were being relentlessly bullied and became depressed.

I remembered experiencing the same thing when I was a teen. Knowing I was different from everyone else but not knowing why. At least my children know who they are, even if they also know that it makes them a target. And I’m so proud of them for being open about it. For being able to tell me and their friends about who they are.

But the hate hasn’t been fully left behind when we left the States behind. While the situation is more welcoming in the north, Canada has its own problems with Pride. Just last year, the premier of our province of Alberta introduced legislation that creates barriers for gender-diverse youth to have equal access to health care, education, and sports. Although recent rhetoric and tariffs have caused Canada to band together as a nation to oppose the draconian USA policies, it’s also brought out some similar repressive elements here, and it’s scary to see the same mouthpieces regurgitating the hate that our family tried to leave behind.

Although it’s not the same here, not as bad, I’m vigilant about what these trends mean. I want my kids to stay kids for as long as they can, and also stay true to who they are. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure both of those things happen.

Because I want to have that perfect day again, surrounded by family and friends and celebrating a triumph of love over hate. I want to see my friends get married when and how they want to, whether or not they are gender diverse or two women or two men tying the knot. And when my kids grow up, I want to see them with partners of their choice without anyone calling them names or telling them that they aren’t allowed to love who they love.

It feels like that’s a long way off after so many recent setbacks. But so did gay marriage, once upon a time.

We got there once. Pushed the boundaries and normalized love over hate. And I know we can do it again.