Coming out, part 1

In order to talk about what I'm doing now, I need to talk about the past as well. Of course, coming out was an important milestone. But I managed to stretch it out a great deal, coming out to my mother a few years before I said anything to my father. And it's not like they are separated, or anything. I'll explain this later.

I came out to Mum when I was about 24 or 25. I was living in a share-house and dating Miranda, who was literally the girl next door. I had slept with women before, but not in any kind of serious relationship. On a visit home to my parents’ place, I told Mum that I liked girls as well as boys. It was a bit more complex than that – I was attracted to both sexes, but mainly to women, especially in an emotional sense – but I didn’t go into the details. It was only 9am, and I just blurted out a statement about my sexuality. Mum didn’t want to talk about it. A few minutes later, she yelled out from the lounge-room, ‘You should watch Rikki Lake today’.

‘Why?’ I asked her.

‘I’m not telling you. You should just watch it.’

I looked at the TV Guide a few minutes later, and read the episode title: “Today I Choose Between my Male and Female Lovers”. Great.

We didn’t really talk about my sexuality much after that. My mother’s one caution was: Don’t tell your father. When I tell my friends this, they are astonished. Wouldn’t your mother tell him? They ask. But ours is not really that sort of family. My parents are very traditional in some ways, and Mum is the centre of the universe. All information that exists seems to filter through her first. What she deems unfit for public consumption doesn't get passed on to other family members. Mum would have told me not to tell Dad as a way of protecting each of us, to minimise upsets. But it also meant I felt like a liar and a coward.

Part of me agreed that it would be simpler not to tell Dad, and I even reasoned that I didn’t want to know anything about his sex-life, so why should I presume to inform him of my own? Another convincing argument was my father’s attitude to anything vaguely out of the norm: he has pretty conservative values, and it was unlikely, I knew, that he would welcome the news. [At the same time, he’d always hated the idea of me going out with men, so, Who knows? I thought to myself. He might prefer a dyke for a daughter.] So for years, I said nothing about my sexuality to my father. Until I met Heather.

This is where it all begins

In December 2005, I will be getting married.

I won’t wear a white gown, or throw a bouquet to a throng of my single friends, or walk with my father down the aisle of a quaint church. In fact, not one member of my family will be present at the wedding. The ceremony will take place in Canada, thousands of miles away from my family and my home here in Australia. When I return home as a newlywed with my spouse, I will be as single as the day I left, according to Australian law. I am marrying my partner, the person whose name I list under ‘next of kin’, my girlfriend, Heather – and same-sex marriages are not permitted or recognised in Australia.

Some people might ask why we would bother to get married, since it isn’t legal in Australia. The answer is, simply, that a wedding in Canada is the next best thing. And so, as gay men and lesbians have done throughout history, we will improvise with whatever tools are at hand, fashioning meaning in our own way, for our own needs. Heather and I want to make a commitment to each other – ideally, a legally-binding commitment. If that means we have to go to another country, we will go there.

In a way, the distance is a good thing, because it means that we needn’t get caught up in the mad circus that comprises some weddings. Our simple ceremony, in a foreign place, under foreign law, will reflect the most basic truths of marriage. The facts of our marriage will reflect a commitment between two people who are joined together even in times of adversity and hardship. Perhaps one of the few virtues of injustice is that it forces you to think about what you value. Injustice can provide a kind of clarity and certainty that is not necessary to those who do not face it. I don’t think heterosexual couples take marriage lightly, but I certainly think queer couples have a keener awareness of the privileged status of marriage.

This, I suppose, is one of the things I hope to understand better as I write this weblog. I want to write about marriage, and what it means in this society. What does it mean to get married? How are our assumptions and beliefs about marriage reflected in popular culture? What does it mean when we say that marriage is an ‘institution’? And why is it that gay marriage is seen as such a threat to this institution? As Heather and I prepare for our marriage, I will write about this process, the obstacles we may face, and what it all means to Heather and me.

If anyone is interested in coming along for the ride by reading this blog, I would we very pleased. I’ve never written a blog before – or prepared for a wedding – so I expect the next several months to be a big learning process. Any feedback, anecdotes or random greetings will be very welcome. Finally, I want to say that, although I am the writer of this blog, it will necessarily discuss a fair portion of Heather’s life as well. I thank Heather for her support of this project, and her openness. I want her to know that this isn’t just a log of our wedding preparations, it is also a testament to my tremendous love for her. I would also like to acknowledge all those who came before me and didn’t have the privileges I have, and those who fought for such privileges.