Here's a label I never thought would apply to me: June bride. Always a tomboy, I wasn't the type of little girl who grew up dreaming of her wedding day, draping herself in her mother's dresses to play bride. Maybe even as a preschooler I sensed there would be no "Mr. Right" in my future, that I would be making my way through this world sans husband. My favorite dress-up gear was a doctor's outfit with a red plastic doctor's bag and fake glasses.
But now I find myself only a few weeks away from the ceremony where I and my partner of almost a decade will make a legally binding pledge to spend the rest of our lives together, a union that will be solemnized by a public official and licensed by the state of Alaska. Because I am marrying another woman, making this ceremony a reality required decades of advocacy and litigation ultimately decided by the United States Supreme Court.
A year ago, last June, I wrote a column about the Supreme Court's decision, Obergefell v. Hodges, that made marriage equality the law throughout the country. At that time, I tried to explain the emotional impact of having one of the nation's most prominent symbols of power acknowledge that my relationship was not, as years of overt discrimination had taught me, unworthy of the institution of marriage.
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During the past year, however, I've made an unexpected discovery. In some ways, social conservatives were right: A court order, even one from the Supreme Court, can't always force social change. But it wasn't society's opinion that remained fixed in the past. Much to my surprise, it was my own.
My partner and I began our journey toward our wedding the old-fashioned way: by arguing over all the details. We debated various venues for months; then there was January's DJ-versus-live-band conflict, followed closely by what I will henceforth refer to as "The Great Capitulation of February": I agreed to give up my dream of a Hawaiian theme where I would only have to dress up in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. Once all of these compromises had been set forth in a legally binding contract, we sent out our "Save the Date" cards.
Along the way, however, my partner complained that I was acting like I was planning a frat party, not a wedding. She had a point. My vision of our celebration was limited to drinking beer — in jeans, of course — and, after drinking enough beer to convince myself my moves are smooth, dancing to my favorite cover band. I noticed that I never referred to my partner as my fiancee in conversation, and gave almost no thought to the ceremony itself. It finally dawned on me that, in my mind, I wasn't getting married — not the real thing like my parents did — I was just getting "gay married." It wasn't quite the same.
Thankfully, several things helped me get past this. It turns out that society has changed, even here in Alaska. Everyone to whom we sent those "Save the Date" cards and invitations treated our wedding like the real thing. My fiancee and I began receiving confirmations from friends and family all over the country who had booked airline tickets and reserved hotel rooms for the big event. None of the businesses we contacted refused to bake our cake or cater the reception. Instead, we were met with not just professional attitudes but usually heartfelt congratulations.
The real shift in my feelings, however, occurred when we met with the judge who will perform our ceremony. She brought with her a copy of the traditional vows: "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish until death do us part."
Growing up, I was taught to believe in these words, even if I never dreamed I'd use them myself. Saying them now to my fiancee will bind us to generations — my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents — whose lifelong marriages wove together the strong social fabric of our family. The relationship my fiancee and I have built together, in turn, will honor and continue that tradition of marital commitment. I may still be uncomfortable with the white dress, but as to the promises that make up the core of our ceremony, nothing seems more natural.
Marcelle McDannel has been working in criminal law for almost two decades, both as a prosecutor and as a criminal defense attorney. She currently practices criminal defense statewide. Her crime fiction blog can be found at askmsmurder.net.
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