I live on the People’s Republic of Martha’s Vineyard, which is an island vaguely associated with the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, where gay marriage recently became the law of the land. Last Sunday the weather was particularly fine. I was on the back porch, setting up for a cookout, when my neighbor Andrew came crashing through the underbrush that separates our houses. He had just come from a meeting with the minister of the Unitarian-Universalist Society of Martha’s Vineyard, during the course of which he had discovered that my wife and I are members of that church.
“We’re getting married in your church,” Andrew said. “Now that it’s legal, you know. I’m Jewish and Ron is Methodist and we wanted some kind of religious thing, so we said, ‘Let’s see what the Unitarians say about it.’”
“Maybe the rainbow flag on the church flagpole gave a clue?” I said.
“Well yes. And we just met your minister, and she was great, and it’s all set up.”
My wife Betty joined the conversation and gave Andrew a hug when she got the news.
“What’s the date?” she asked.
“September 11,” he said. “We have decided to reclaim that date from the haters. It will be a day of joy.”
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