Cary and I kept changing outfits this morning, dissatisfied with everything we tried on, until Selina looked at us and said, “You look like you’re playing dress-up.”

And so began our big gay Yom Kippur wedding.*

We didn’t do much planning and we didn’t throw a party (that may come later) but our tiny wedding was perfect.

Once we settled on the right jackets and ties and put Selina in a flouncy dress with yellow and pink flowers on it (she’s our flower girl, after all), we got into our Prius (the official car of gay weddings?), picked up Friend of Toll House Abe Sylvia who acted as witness and photographer, and drove to the courthouse listening to a special wedding mix of songs prepared by Friend of Toll House Tom Campbell.  We arrived in the middle of Sonny & Cher singing “I Got You Babe.”  (We hope our marriage lasts longer than theirs did.)

Cary’s dad George met us at the courthouse and we had a short wait for our turn after two other gay couples who looked like they were picking up their dry cleaning.  They’d probably been together a long time and didn’t want to make a big deal because they don’t quite trust the perilous legal situation gay marriage is in right now.  Who could blame them?

Our officiant, a lovely blonde woman named Bronwen, called our names and led us across the cold marble hall into a little room that had been refashioned as a chapel with white taffeta on the walls and little silver hearts hanging from the ceiling.  There was even a floral bower for us to stand beneath.   “Welcome to a little bit of Vegas in Beverly Hills,” Bronwen joked.  She gave Abe tips on where the best angles were for pictures, George and Selina took their seats, and we began.

And suddenly, the beauty of the wedding ritual, the solemnity of the occasion, and the power of the state took charge of the room as Cary and I took hands, looked in each other’s eyes and repeated the vows read to us.  I started crying first, Cary’s eyes teared up soon after.  And then, much to our surprise, the officiant started sobbing.  “I don’t usually get this way,” she said, laughing through tears, “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t the novelty of the occasion – she had just done two gay weddings before ours.  I thought maybe it was because we were the only grooms who dressed up for the occasion and didn’t have sunglasses perched on our heads.  But that wasn’t it.  “My seventeen-year-old son came out to me three days ago,” Bronwen told us.

“What a lucky kid to have you as his mother,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said with a big smile, “I’m lucky, too.”

The whole thing only took a few minutes and after a round of hugs and kisses, we posed for pictures (in which I look way too fat despite my Yom Kippur fast, alas).  It was quick, completely without pomp, but loving, moving, and real.

The law may change again in four weeks, but nothing will take away what we did this morning.  We were changed.  Our family was recognized and honored by the state of California, if only for a few more weeks.

We feel so happy.

Please vote no on Prop. 8 and donate to NoOnProp8.com or EQCA.  Thank you.

1. -Jon
   

* For an explanation of how we ended up unintentionally getting married on Yom Kippur, click here.