A History of Marriage Equality in Cake (with a tangent about tax returns)

On June 1, Marilyn and I went to our County Clerk’s office, which was open that Sunday to allow same-sex couples in civil unions to apply for marriage licenses on the first day that became possible in Illinois. By signing a piece of paper, we converted our civil union to a marriage.   Our marriage became effective as of three years earlier, the original date of the civil union. So, one minute we were not married, and another we had been married nearly three years. It felt like science-fiction, very joyful science fiction.  Now, our relationship is recognized both by our state and by the federal government. In Illinois we are equal to every other married couple. After decades of activism, the process was simple and the mood at the County Clerk’s moving and celebratory.  
  
I joke with Marilyn that our relationship’s legal status has been inversely proportional to the size of the cakes with which we have celebrated our union.  

On the afternoon of June 1, we celebrated with a small, brown-sugar-oatmeal cake, one of our favorites from The Cake Artist’s Studio. We shared it with a couple of close friends over cups of coffee after we all went out for barbecue.  Later, the four of us watched the local news coverage of the historic day at the County Clerk’s office. 

Three years earlier, when we had our civil union on June 17, 2011, we had five small cakes because we had so much to celebrate:  the fifth anniversary of our commitment ceremony, progress towards equality, and our civil union.  The ceremony at the courthouse lasted only two minutes and thirty-eight seconds, but it was as moving as our forty-minute commitment ceremony at the Unitarian Universalist Church had been five years earlier. Our state now recognized our union (though the federal government still did not). More than fifty local friends stopped by our house in the afternoon for cake and champagne. 

Back in 2006, when we had our commitment ceremony, we had a three-tiered cake, which we designed with the Cake Artist, and we even had an extra round cake to make sure there was enough for the hundred guests at our reception.  When my father asked whether our ceremony would be recorded in a government office and my mother asked whether an announcement would appear in the paper, I was touched--I was sorry I had to tell them both no.  The ceremony and our union had no standing in the eyes of the law.
 

When the marriage equality bill was first passed in Illinois last fall, Marilyn brought us a cake from—where else?—The Cake Artist’s Studio.  Even while we celebrated, I wondered whether filing tax returns would become easier.  After our civil union, we had to file more tax returns than we did before.  The state needed us to file as a married couple, but to do that we had to create a federal tax return as a married couple—a return we could not file with the IRS.  So when we did our taxes, we had to generate four returns: two federal returns that we filed as single people, and then the “fake” married federal return to generate the married state tax return. It made us crazy. I joked that this was a conspiracy: “Sure! We’ll give those gays equal rights.  Well, almost equal rights. And then we’ll make them fill out extra tax returns.  Even better, we’ll make them fill out tax returns that they cannot use.”   

I am thrilled to tell you that from now on, we can file one federal tax return as a married couple, and our state tax return will be generated easily after that, as it should be.  Ah, equality!  I think this calls for a slice of cake. 

(The formatting on blogspot is not cooperating today; please excuse the inconsistencies).

Towards equality

On November 20, Governor Quinn signed into law the bill that will bring marriage equality to Illinois. On June 1, 2014, three years after our civil union, eight years after our commitment ceremony, and fifteen years into our relationship, Marilyn and I will be able to apply for a marriage license as a same-sex couple. We will finally be treated as equals in our own state.  And the federal government will recognize our marriage, too.

I feel a range of emotions when I think of this progress: relief and joy that we have come this far; anger that the struggle existed at all, that my fellow citizens took this long to decide we are worthy; and sadness for those who died before this new law, leaving behind survivors who were never recognized as family by the state, and therefore will never receive the financial benefits.

Overall, though, November was a month to celebrate progress towards equality.  Below is a series of photos that chronicles the celebration.

On Tuesday, November 5, Marilyn and I followed the Illinois House debate online, looking for updates.  That afternoon, I was getting ready to grade papers and had just ordered a decaf Americano at the neighborhood coffee shop when this text from Marilyn came through: my first--and I hope, only, proposal of marriage.  It was all so exciting, I wanted to tell someone.  But I wasn't sure of the barista's views, so I didn't say anything while still at the counter.  In minutes, though, I was online, sharing the joy with friends.

This graphic was all over Facebook, and soon it was my profile photo.

Marilyn had said that morning, "If the bill passes, we have to have wedding cake."  That evening, she went to the bakery that had designed our commitment ceremony cake, a towering affair, and got this "wedding white" cake.  The proprietor, who recognized Marilyn, offered to write on it.  When I posted this photo on Facebook, we received dozens of messages of congratulations.

This was the front page of our local paper the next morning. It's striking how a newspaper headline can make progress seem more real.  

The Unitarian Universalist (UU) church we belong to had a celebration that weekend.  I took these cookies--quartered because they were so large--to the rainbow-themed potluck at the church.  

This was the cake made by the organizers of the celebration, who are among those who have lobbied for equal rights for gays and lesbians.  We feel so fortunate to belong to a church that works proactively for justice and equality.

When the newspaper did a story on the local response, our minister was interviewed and was on the front page.

The altar decorations that Sunday celebrated the marriage equality victory.  This is the sanctuary where we had our commitment ceremony in 2006.

Those are candles of joy and concern, lit silently during the service.  One of the few spoken joys submitted that day was about the bill being passed.

It's official.  And still a little amazing.

The Wisdom of a Ten-Year-Old Boy

This is one of the cakes we cut to celebrate our civil union in June 2011; we applied for our license on the first day it was legal in Illinois and had a ceremony at the courthouse on the fifth anniversary of our commitment ceremony. Another cake we cut that day said, "Legal at last!"

Yesterday, my friend Tony sent me a link to a chronology of same-sex marriage and civil unions in the United States.  The November 6 elections brought further progress towards marriage equality.  I try to appreciate the progress.   But the fact that other citizens get to decide whether my partner and I may enjoy the civil rights they take for granted—worse, that some of my fellow citizens believe they are entitled to make that decision—grates on me.

Still, the recent progress gives me hope.  Another source of hope is a conversation I had with my ten-year-old nephews last month.    

On a cold, sunny Sunday morning in Connecticut, we sat in a diner booth awaiting pancakes and waffles.  The twins had just turned ten, and we were on our annual visit out east to celebrate their birthday.  That morning, our large group was divided in two, and my nephews and I shared the booth with their grandma Sharon, visiting from Nova Scotia. 

As Sameer drew with crayons on his placemat, Sanjay said to me, “I think I’m liking Mitt Romney better than Barack Obama.”  The kid knows how to get my attention. 

Sanjay had heard somewhere that the President hadn’t kept his promises.  I explained that because the Republicans did not want the President to be reelected, they had blocked many of his proposals, refusing to cooperate with him. 

“They did that?  Why?!”  His ten-year-old sense of right and wrong was piqued. 

Our mailbox on Election Day 2012.

After we discussed Obamacare and preexisting conditions, and the boys talked about a girl in their school who had cancer, they began to see why I supported the President. 

Then I added, “Romney thinks your Aunty Melon and I should not be able to get married.” 

Next to me, Sameer’s crayon stopped moving on his placemat, and across the table, Sanjay tried to stand up in the booth.  “But people should be able to marry whoever they want!”  Sanjay was indignant, sounding like he was stating the obvious. 

And then, puzzled, he asked “You’re not married?” 

Our wedding cake from June 2006

After all, he remembered walking me (or rather, pulling me) down the aisle at the Unitarian Universalist Church when he was three and a half.  (The next day, he had asked me about the ceremony: “Why did you all talk so much?”) Sameer remembered that our wedding cake had egg in it; he was allergic to eggs and loves cake.  How could we not be married?

I explained civil unions and that some states recognize ours and some don’t and how that is different from their parents’ marriage.  We also discussed how Canada, where they go every year to visit their grandma, has different policies about same-sex marriage and about health care. 

Then the pancakes came, and we got busy eating.  But when I get frustrated at the slow pace of change, weary of second-class citizenship, I remind myself that the future will be different.  Today, there are ten-year-old boys who say without ambivalence, “But people should be able to marry whoever they want!”