Why Do "I Do"?

I never had the least desire to get married. Since neither church nor state had ever been, to put it mildly, supportive of my relationships, why on earth should I want them involved? Like many gay men, I relished the sense of freedom and improvisation that came from not having my relationship defined from the outside. No scripted expectations, no predetermined path. Wasn’t it invigorating, and didn’t it somehow feel more alive that way?

So it was with a certain degree of surprise that I found myself looking at the sweet flood of news pictures from San Francisco, during the first flourish of same-sex weddings there, and feeling -- well, sweet. Handsome young guys holding each other and weeping. Tender, mature women who’d been together for years embracing with confidence and delight. Who could look at these images and not be moved? It’s the pleasure of seeing our relationships honored in the public arena, seeing these loving couples validated by their inclusion in the daily news, after our long histories of erasure. Still, I thought, it’s not what I really want for myself.

Then I got a new job, in an academic community whose values are progressive and humane, and for the first time in my working life I was offered same-sex partner benefits. The only catch: We needed to have a legally recognized relationship.

Let me be perfectly clear: If I were going to marry anybody, I’d marry Paul. In a practical sense, I already had. We’ve been together for 13 years; our lives and work are intertwined. We know all the same people. We share a long, elaborate frame of reference, a mutual history. I am no longer at all clear who I’d be if he wasn’t around. Not to mention the fact that he is smart, devilishly handsome, an entertaining companion, funny, loyal to a fault, and a wonderful writer. He’s an excellent travel companion, likes people and animals, and has eyes of a startling beauty and clarity -- as if you can simply look right down into him, when you are so inclined. But what would we gain by getting married? What would be any different, other than my job benefits?

We checked into domestic-partnership registration, only to learn that in New York City, where we live, putting our relationship on the books wouldn’t provide us with much. The major benefit: If one of us were incarcerated, the other would be allowed to visit. Paul gets a bit wild, but I don’t think Rikers Island is in his future. Marriage was clearly the way to go, especially since New York’s bold new governor has decreed that our state will recognize same-sex marriages sealed in California, and now, it seems, those from Massachusetts too.

But did we really want to participate in this dusty old institution, with its oppressive history and its hidebound conventions? I feared that marriage would define us, and not the other way around.