I Am Not Now, Nor Have I Ever Been

It was cold this morning and I didn't want to leave the house. Marcus and the kids (cats) were snugged up in bed. I dragged myself from under the comforter and made my way slowly to the kitchen. Before I put coffee on, I checked e-mail on my phone. Maybe it was cancelled.

It wasn't.

Sigh.

There was no escaping. I was going to have to go downtown to the Queer Rising Marriage Equality Rally. I live in Harlem. Worth Street is nearly an hour away. That's far!

And let's not forget it was cold outside. Oh, and did I mention I had to be there by 8:00?

Maybe I wouldn't go after all.

I hate being an activist.

I'm not very good at it.

On second thought, I'm not an activist.

I went anyway.

There were a lot of nice people there. People who are committed to equality are often nice. (Not always, of course. But often.)

I had not come prepared with a sign. (Because, as I previously stated, I hate being an activist and I'm not an activist.) But one of the real activists had made several signs--as real activists are want to do--so she gave me one to hold. It said Queer Rising in big letters and had many rainbow colors. Not the sign I would have made but I hadn't made a sign. And as the say beggers (you know the rest.)

Anyway, not the sign I would have made but, I liked having the sign to hold because it gave me something to do with my hands. (and it made me look like an activist, which I'm not.)

I stood at a safe distance from the actual activists, but did participate in the chanting and general shouting for equality.

Then a gay man and a lesbian came and talked to us. They told us they had just received a marriage license. Even though, they don't love each other, or even know each other very well. They had previously tried to get licenses with the people they actually love. But since the great loves of their lives were of the same gender, they were denied.

Not a surprise. But really a drag. Right?

Suddenly I began chanting a little louder!

Then I thought maybe we would go for snacks. But we weren't done yet.

More actual activists emerged from the building and chained themselves together, effectively barring entrance into the building.

Lot's more pro-marriage-rights slogans were chanted!

Also police came. (Not being an activist, that frightened me.)

I continued to carry my Queer Rising sign and considered blocking my face with it in case there were camaras, like the Gotti family does when they are exiting a court house.

But the police were not interested in me. Because I was across the street where we were asked to stand. (I was taught by nuns and therefore obey authority.) And besides, not to belabor the point, but I'm not really an activist.

So anyway the police clipped the big heavy chains and arrested the (real) activists and escorted them to the Paddy Wagon.

And just for a minute I wished I was an activist. I wished I cared enough about civil rights to go to prison for what is right. I wished I was fighting more. Shouting louder.

I wish I was braver.

And then I remembered something: At least, I showed up.

I did chant.

I did hold a sign.

And maybe that's not enough. But it's something.

It's a start.

And maybe next time I'll chain myself to the door too. (Totally kidding, Mom.)

But I think I will keep showing up. I will keep chanting. I will make noise, albeit respectful, somewhat subdued noise. I can do these things...

(Even though I'm not an activist.)

And maybe someday...

Who knows?