Angua's First Blog

Think about a topic. Go ahead. Saaaaay... gay marriage. Why not?

Everyone can imagine a variety of stands on the subject. Here is one extreme: everybody should fuck whoever they like and marry them, too. Any combination, farm animals included. Do it like they do it on the Discovery Channel, baby! But with insurance benefits. Here is another extreme: sex should only be for married people, for the purposes of procreation. Anything else is distasteful, and should probably be illegal. And marriage is just for men and women. Did God create Adam and Steve, eh? QED. And here is a moderate view, close to my own: I think gay partnerships and adoption should definitely be legalized. I think gay marriage should be permitted, but I don't think ministers of religion should be forced to perform it if it contrasts with their views.

The think the extremes are pretty extreme, but I can see how someone holding those views came by them. I can see how they can be talked out of them. If I showed my missionary position extremist "The Song of Solomon," for instance, I may be able to prove that sex does not need to be done in the dark. God seemed to be pretty into it. I can see how my own view can move a few steps to the right or the left. If I met some polygamists who are not nuts, for instance, I could maybe see how legislating polygamous relationships could be beneficial. Right now, I am just overcome by the yuck factor. But you theoretically could convince me, and I theoretically could convince you, if we put forward logical arguments for our positions.

And then, you see, there is my late Great-Aunt Miriam's view on the subject. In the last couple of years of her long life, Great-Aunt Miriam became convinced that "homosexuals" were out to kill her and destroy up the world. Now here is an amusing thing: I honestly don't think Great-Aunt knew who "homosexuals" actually were. I mean, she would not have been able to give you the basic "girls who like kissing other girls" definition of homosexuality. She certainly would not have been able to recognize one if she saw one on the street. But somewhere inside here dementia-addled mind, she placed the label "homosexual" onto the confusion and stress and horror she experienced in those last months. There was pain everywhere, and strangers kept calling her "Auntie," even though she was quite sure she wasn't old enough to have kids, and she woke up in a strange room every morning, and all these spoons, phones, pens, and things looked vaguely familiar, but she wasn't quite sure what they were for... And then she could say to herself, "ah, the homosexuals probably did it," and that gave some kind of order and explanation to her otherwise scary and confusing life.

Here is a thing about Aunt Miriam, in her last few months. It's not just that I was not particularly interested by her views on gay marriage. The family was not that concerned about her views on anything. We loved her, respected her, admired her, and wanted what was the best for her. But when the family got together to decide whether this or that illness required hospitalization, for example, she did not get a vote. Her view was not based on whether moving her would cause more stress, whether something like a flu may just get worse in a ward with more flu patients, whether the symptoms seem to be receding anyway, etc. Her view was based on the fact that the pit to hell was right outside the front door (put there by the homosexuals).

See, I keep thinking about Great-Aunt Miriam whenever I read that "