This fall in Iowa, Loren A. Olson and his partner, Doug, will finally tie the knot after 23 years together. But how it will change their relationship is the big news.
“Do you think your marriage will change your relationship with Doug?” Linda asked. I was having lunch at a bistro in Chelsea with Linda, my literary agent, and discussing the completion of my book about coming out in midlife and beyond.
“Yes,” I answered.
“How?”
“Well, the most obvious way is that it will resolve some of the legal complexities we face as an unmarried couple. But it’s much more than that.” I thought for a while, and then I went on.
Doug and I will be married at my United Church of Christ in Des Moines this fall in a small, private ceremony for our immediate family members. We wanted an intimate ceremony because we see this not only as asking the church to bless our vows, but also as a request to our families that each of us be assimilated as a full member in the family of the other. For us, this is a very personal and private moment we want to share only with the people we love the most.
It also changes the level of our commitment to each other. Introducing Doug as my (legal) husband is far different than introducing him as a partner in a civil union. Once, several years ago, I expressed some anxiety to Doug that he might leave me.
He responded, “If I’m still there in the morning, you’ll know I have renewed my commitment,” and then with a smile, “at least for another day.” After finding him there in the morning for 23 years, I no longer feel that anxiety, but marriage does carry with it a bigger promise of commitment and permanence.
A few years ago I received an invitation to my family reunion, along with the usual request to update family information. I didn’t send it back right away, struggling with whether or not to mention Doug since I had never come out to the extended family.
When I arrived at the reunion, I met one of my cousins, and I asked about her family. She mentioned only two of her three kids. I asked about the third. She grew uncomfortable, and said, “He’s involved in reparative therapy for homo-sex-u-als in Wichita,” clearly wanting to end that conversation.
I responded, “That’s pretty difficult work.”
She said, “Yes, it is.”
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