A sex act? My dear, if we made love as often as the straight world seems to think we do we would be one exhausted group. My relationship is not about my sex life, as pleasant as that may be, it is about our whole life. We don’t ask for special treatment - just for equal treatment. Believe me, you know someone who is gay. You might even love or respect them. We are everywhere. Open your minds and your hearts and let us in. I believe you’re in for a pleasant surprise. And please, don’t send us to the Supreme Court. I don’t believe they are any fairer about inclusion than they were about choosing a President.

I am a woman who has had and loved the same female partner for over thirty-three years. She, a successful attorney, has for professional and personal reasons kept our relationship closeted for all this time. Much of her fear is related to the post Stonewall years where we spent our young adulthood. Living gay in those days was much like being black before Rosa Parks. You were jeered, and taunted, and generally made to feel like a freak. My own mother said, when at sixteen I told her about my feelings, “I would rather see you married to a black man than this.” A commentary, I’m afraid, that reflected more than one narrow minded prejudice in the mid-sixties. It took years of therapy for me to convince myself that I am worthy and entitled to be judged by “the content of my character” and not by bible quoting Christians who would turn Jesus’ stomach if he witnessed the hate they spew in his name. And speaking of the bible, there are three mentions of homosexuality in this much referenced tome, and dozens on the sin of adultery, among others. Why then, are we the brunt of all this hate? Why are we being disenfranchised for whom we are able to love? Not maim, not molest, not abuse - but love. And I don’t believe for a moment the platitude “I hate the sin but not the sinner.” To me it sounds like, I hate the sin and want to fix or heal the sinner. Despite current opinion, homosexuality is not a choice. Experimenting with it might be, living it is not. I was six years old when I knew I felt something extraordinary about women. It wasn’t until I was twelve that I learned I should feel dirty, guilty and sick because of it. My partner and I, have lived productive, unselfish and caring lives. We have mentored and helped raise thirteen children. We are loved and honored by friends and the family members who do know about our relationship. We are successful professionals. Yet, we are not afforded the right to legitimize our love and commitment to each other. I don’t want the insipid civil union status. To me, it is a pat on the head, a lollypop offered to calm my tantrum. I want more; I need more; I deserve more.

Are you kidding? I think Miss Piggy would do a better job than what we’re suffering with presently!

This was one of the few pieces I’ve ever read that is worthy of Ms. Streep herself. Well done!