In which I am grateful for my father

A GROUP FROM MY CHURCH back home put a proposal in favor of same-sex marriage before the church's vestry, which is like the church's board of directors.

My mom has been involved in the effort from the beginning, which is wonderful, if not entirely surprising: her middle initial, L, effectively stands for liberal. The woman has never met a minority group she didn't adore, which she made abundantly clear by attending a gay pride parade just weeks after I came out, and years before I could have stepped foot near a leather daddy wearing chaps and nipple clamps.

On the day of the presentation to the vestry, however, my mom, who is a member of the city's school board, had a last minute meeting to save public education, and was forced to pull out of the presentation.

Then something even better happened: my dad agreed to attend. He even agreed to speak in her place.

I can't tell you how proud this made me. My father never makes public statements on political issues, and his private statements on, say, foreign policy have been known to include the statement "Bomb the bastards back to the Stone Age." Moreover, like any good Yankee, the man has a strict "Don't ask, don't tell" policy when it comes to sexuality - homo or otherwise.

What's amazing to me is that my parents, while motivated by my stake in the issue, both made it clear that they aren't doing this on my behalf. For them, this is about doing what's right, what's just, and what's good.

I want to share what my father said said because it's beautiful.

(Warning: there are a few sentences where he goes on as fathers will about their children. I am not trying to be immodest in posting those sentiments; I'd prefer to share this whole cloth).

I am not here this evening to speak as a member of the St. Francis parish, although I have been for a quarter century.

Nor am I here to speak as the father of a son who is gay, who I love beyond any words. That said, when I think of him, I think of Ernest Hemingway’s profound observation that “Courage is grace under pressure.” The courage and grace he has shown in dealing with his sexuality - first to his family, then to his friends, and then to the great unknown that is society - leaves me in awe. I don’t know if I could have ever summoned his strength and his belief in the essential goodness of people.

No, tonight I’d like to speak with you about a matter that goes beyond St. Francis and the Episcopal Church, but strikes to the most American of values. We are a people who believe deeply in fairness and equality. They are qualities that more than two centuries ago sparked a flame that allowed the rest of the world to dream of - and embrace - democracy and which make us a universal symbol of hope to this day.

No one wakes up in the morning and decides they want to be gay. Why would they want to be loathed by people who don’t know anything about their dreams and hopes and fears? Why would they want to be the subject of cultural ridicule? And why, finally, would they be willing to face discrimination from the institutions they value most, including their church where, in my son's case, he was Baptized, received First Holy Communion, and served as an Acolyte before he outgrew the robes.

I am not well-versed in the intricacies of Episcopal dogma or politics, either at the international, national or, most importantly, local level - and honestly, they don’t particularly interest me. What I am concerned about is this fundamental issue of humanity.

In 1966, Bobby Kennedy traveled to South Africa, a country then suffocating under the boot of their loathsome and, ultimately, self-destructive, policy of Apartheid. Kennedy spoke at the University of Capetown and said this:

“It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.”

Today, the question before us is more subtle but it calls to us the same essential questions Bob Kennedy asked:

If not now, when? And if not here, where?

He used to look good to me, but now...

IF THERE'S ONE THING I like, it's a winner. Thus, as Obama comes ever closer to clinching the nomination, I find him ever more attractive. I mean, why root for a loser? Instead, just say, "Oh, I don't know, I like them both; I'll be happy either way."

Perhaps my ambivalence is rooted in my deep seeded guilt at being the white male oppressor. If I come out too strong for Hilary, I'm a racist; too strong for Barack and I'm just reinforcing the glass ceiling. After all, isn't it her turn? Doesn't she deserve it? Too bad there isn't a gay candidate, this would be so much easier.

Ultimately, I blame New York. If I still lived in DC, my friends would never let me get away with being on the fence. Here in The City, however, people break out in hives when you try to talk politics with them.

It's unsettling, however, that I somehow have developed stronger opinions about who I think should be the next American Idol than I have about who should be the next president, despite listening to NPR every day and reading the New York Times online religiously. What's the point in learning so much about the candidates if someone hasn't told me what to think by now?

Well, consider my dilemma solved.

Barack Obama-sistible

For whom the bell may be tolling.

THE TIMES HAS BEEN running a series of articles recently that suggest the Clinton campaign has been subtly closing up shop. They're sad articles, because they portray Hillary as a passionate candidate who, while ever realistic about her chances, remains deeply committed to the difference she could make in the lives of Americans.

The articles are especially heartbreaking because they remind me of women who strove mightily to achieve greatness, and ought to have won those achievements, but for whatever reason never quite did. Of course, they call into question Hillary's ability to be an effective, inspirational leader if she can't even convince her own campaign staff to tough it out and remain optimistic until the final act. And yet there's something about the whole situation that makes me want to donate to her campaign, to demonstrate my appreciation, if not necessarily my support.

Hillary's slow deflation doesn't make me any more excited about Obama. If anything, I've grown more disillusioned by his one note campaign over the past few weeks. As we've watched Hillary's slow fade, he's failed to step into the vacuum she's leaving, failed to inspire confidence in his ability to do anything more than simply provide some vague inspiration. I want as much as anyone for this country to be united, for us to move past the old divisions that hardened during the Clinton era, but the truth is that those differences don't simply disappear, and I'm not sure he has goals beyond redrawing the lines that divide us.

Hindsight is always 20/20, but it seems that one of Clinton's campaign's greatest failings was the sense of inevitability they injected into the race during those early months. You never really felt like you needed to get involved because the assumption was that she was going to win with our without you. To this day, I think Hillary supporters still believe Hillary will pull it out in the remaining states, that ultimately, they don't need to get involved because Obama's magic is sure to run out if she can just hold on long enough.

Remember the power of the American idea

I STILL HAVEN'T DECIDED who I'm supporting in the Democratic primary race, but fuck, man, have you seen this?

Even if Obama can't seize victory from the Clinton machine (a machine I personally believe is built around a capable, impressive, and good-hearted candidate), the message here is exceptionally powerful.

Yes We Can

"There has never been anything false about hope."