Made a sticker, marched in the parade.
Shed a thousand happy tears that day.
Explained the events to my 4-year-old, "Boys can marry boys, and girls can marry girls if they want. Before, they couldn't and that wasn't fair."
She asked if we could get married now.
She drew a picture of the two of us surrounded by hearts to take with me to the parade.
I did.
She asked me when the happy tears would end.
I said, Not for a long time, Baby, Not for a long time.
We listened to Obama on the radio. She practiced whistling. She got it when I said I needed to listen to our President. Quiet please, Love, I need to hear the President.
We got to her school, I asked her teacher like every day, "How are you?" She exploded with jubilance, "GREAT, actually!!!"
I knew she knew. I knew why.
I told her, Me Too!
And we both stood there, crying and laughing and feeling so happy and my daughter just watched.
I hope it's her first memory, this day. That day. The day my happy tears would never end.
When my boss walked into work on this wonderful wonderful day, he put his arms up in the air--like a diva about to wail, like an opera queen he yelled, "It's our day, motherfuckers!"
I couldn't contain myself.
I shot both bat-wing arms up in the air and yelled and whooped.
On the way home that day we listened to Louis Prima. I danced like an old timer; like a shuffle and a clap, a shuffle and a clap. All evening long, a shuffle and a clap.
What a wonderful thing. A wonderful wonderful wonderful thing.
My best friend and me. We walked the parade and performed the famous "soldier's kiss" in front of every big camera all the way up Market Street in the glorious city of San Francisco.
I guess that's how I got this contusion.
Mezcal is strong!
