My Kids Don’t Even Know What a “Gay Wedding” Is

To them, it’s ordinary. To me, it’s fragile history.

My two wee girls and I, in our fancy pink dresses, in 2013. Photo by their dad.

It’s 2013, and my small daughters gaze at the pale pink dresses, their eyes alight as they take in the wee rosettes at the waistline and the full-length skirts of layered tulle.

“These are for us??” they gush. At just five and nearly three years old, they’ve never known such finery.

“Of course they are,” I tell them. “You need extra-special dresses to attend your first wedding. Do you like them?”

They grab the dresses from my arms and rush off to try them on, all giggles and squeals. I can hear their laughter as I zip zippers and straighten sashes, and I feel my own anticipation bubbling up.

Because this isn’t just any wedding.

Just four months earlier, voters approved Washington State’s Referendum 74, legalizing marriage equality in the Evergreen state. Macklemore’s “Same Love” serenaded us all summer, a chart-topping anthem the Seattle native and hip-hop star wrote expressly for the campaign, turning political activism into a Grammy nomination for the 2012 Song of the Year. And what a year. Through the magic of pop music and grassroots activism, something I never thought I’d live to see was happening: my daughters’ very first wedding would be between two women.

We know the happy couple because their son, Malcolm*, goes to preschool with my eldest. Their moms, Callie and Lena*, have been together for years, but only now could their love be legally recognized in the United States. And if that joy weren’t enough, Callie had led community outreach for the campaign herself, knocking doors and organizing campaigns to help make this moment possible — for herself, yes. But also for all queer couples in Washington state.

The magnitude of it all takes my breath away.

My daughters? They’re underwhelmed. When I try to tell them how historic this is, they shrug in that way they’ve more recently perfected as teenagers — a gesture that says, whatever, Mom. Only old people like you think this is a big deal.

Why wouldn’t Malcolm’s two moms be able to marry?

To them, this wedding is just a wedding. To me, it’s witnessing hard-won history.

---

I’m lying, a little.

When my firstborn was three months old, her uncle — my younger brother — got married in Hawaii. To a woman. So technically, she has been to a not-gay wedding.

She saw them say “I do,” all swaddled and sunburned. Then she nursed and took a nap. Of course, she remembers nothing.

I don’t think it counts.

---

I’m GenX, so I grew up in a world where gay marriages seemed fantastical — like jet-packs, or a female U.S. president. Except for that one kid Marco* with the bi-level perm and the lisp, there were no gay people at my huge suburban high school.

Except for my best friend.

And my high school crush.

And my friend Heather with the cool hair, who grew up to be a ‘90s rainbow rock-star icon.

I had no idea at the time. Just a few decades back, gay people were all but invisible.

Then I came into adulthood and moved to a city. My best friend came out. And so did so many others. GenXers like me showed up for Pride and tried to educate those older than us that being gay wasn’t a choice or a lifestyle. It was just the way some people were. Love was love. The Same Love.

But legitimized gay marriage still seemed impossible.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant announces, tearing me from my reverie. I look around and marvel as Callie and Lena embrace. It’s all real. The crowd goes wild — with joy, with gratitude, and with a sense of wonder that’s hard to describe.

I glance over at my girls, and see them shrieking their approval. They might not get the significance, but in that moment, they get the joy.

---

A few months later, my conservative father visits us from Florida. My eldest, in kindergarten, chats him up as she draws. “Who do you think you’re going to marry?” he asks, and I groan inwardly.

My dad has no idea what to say to girls, other than to compliment their looks or ask about boyfriends. So this question doesn’t surprise me. Before I can intervene, my child chirps confidently, “I’m going to marry Carlos and Ellie and Kelly and Sam.”

“Carlos??” my dad nearly sneers. He’s racist, in addition to chauvinistic.

“Yeah, Carlos and Ellie and Kelly and Sam,” my child repeats patiently.

“You can’t marry Ellie or Kelly,” my dad says. I can’t resist correcting him.

“Actually, she can here. Marriage equality is the law in Washington state.” He looks displeased, but he has to acknowledge I’m right. I feel a surge of hometown pride and wisecrack back.

“The only thing she can’t do is marry all four of them at once,” I say with a wry grin, blowing my conservative father’s mind. “But perhaps that will fall to her generation, legalizing polyamorous weddings.”

At the time, I believed it could be true. Love is love, and relationships strengthen families and communities.

The arc of the moral universe is long. For marriage equality, it was finally bending toward justice. I felt confident it would only gain more curvature, protecting all unions.

I ache now for the false hope I held only a dozen years ago.

---

My youngest is about eight years old when she has her first crush. It’s on her best friend, Virginia*, and honestly, I don’t blame her — Virginia is a genuinely lovely human.

“I want to tell Virginia I like her,” she confides in me.

I pause. A revelation like this can be risky. Friendships sometimes can’t survive if feelings aren’t mutual. Worst-case, she might get teased or bullied. But I also never want her to live a lie.

“Things could get tricky if you say anything,” I offer.

“I know,” she replies. “But I still want to tell her.”

And she does. Virginia doesn’t return her feelings. She likes boys. But she isn’t bothered by my child’s admission. Their friendship continues until COVID hits, when remote learning and time apart naturally grow them apart. I haven’t heard about a new crush since.

I suspect that her future infatuations may also be with girls. And I don’t mind. I just want my children to find love. So long as they’re happy and their person treats them well, gender is irrelevant.

This belief became especially poignant once marriage equality became law in the U.S. with Obergefell in 2015. I watched, astonished, as couples lined up at courthouses across the country, eager to finally legalize what they had always known in love. I cried for their long wait, for decades of unrecognized commitment, and for the protections they could finally claim under the law.

What sanctity. What a relief. What a time to be living. What a blessing, as a mom, to know my daughters could marry whomever they chose when they were ready.

---

We haven’t been to too many weddings, really.

But we’ve had some ridiculously fun times since Obergefell passed.

We posed in a gold glittery photo booth. We watched as a throng of bearded, blindfolded bears smacked down a Star Wars pinata. We donned feather boas and sparkly sunglasses and then tore up the dance floor. And my children watched as I officiated my first — and so far, only — wedding on the beach, a beautiful late summer day, my best friend and his groom kissing their “I dos” at low tide as the seagulls squawked their approval.

Last year, the principal of my older daughter’s high school welcomed the kids back after summer vacation. During her speech, she mentioned the “gay wedding” she’d attended in July. I’m sure it was meant to sound inclusive, but the Gen Z kids found it hilarious.

“Gay wedding,” scoffed my teen. “Or as I like to call them: weddings.”

Me too, kid. Me too.

---

Last weekend, the news broke that Obergefell v. Hodges was going back before the Supreme Court.

I’d known it was coming. The election results had practically guaranteed it. But I still wasn’t ready. Legal experts say not to panic, that same-sex marriage isn’t going away overnight. But I can’t forget those courthouse steps in 2015, the lines of couples clutching each other’s hands, eager to turn decades of waiting into vows.

I sat at the kitchen table with my youngest, nearly grown. I didn’t want to have to break it to her, but I didn’t want her to hear the news from some meme.

“Did you hear what’s happening with marriage equality?” I asked. She shook her head. So I explained: the legal challenges, the stacking of our Supreme Court Justices, even Kim Davis and her horrible hair resurfacing in the headlines like a homophobic revenant.

She listened, and then shrugged.

But it wasn’t the shrug of a three-year-old in a pink dress, spinning in circles before her first wedding. That shrug had been breezy, confident, from a child who assumed the world was just. This one was just… resigned.

“Everything is so awful right now, it just feels like… okay, another awful thing,” she said.

I raised my daughters to believe progress bends forward, that justice wins in the end. Their childhoods seemed to prove me right: their first weddings were queer weddings, their first crushes could be spoken out loud, their first lessons in love were that it comes in many forms.

But watching her defeated shrug, I realized something I never expected as a parent: that arc I trusted to curve toward justice? It had bent backward. Had I steered my children wrong, to believe the world could get better?

I found myself floored once again by the pace of change.

Only this time, in the wrong direction.

---

Now I’m at the mall with my kids, back-to-school shopping. The pink tulle frocks are long gone. In their place, they’re on the lookout for jeans, tank tops, sweatpants, and sweaters.

We pass the American Eagle store with its ubiquitous Sydney Sweeney campaign, her “good genes” blue eyes staring us down. For all the online controversy surrounding their ads, the store isn’t busy. Sydney may have rattled the Internet, but the Gen Z kids are voting with their dollars at Tilly’s, Pacsun, and Garage.

My teens aren’t as exuberant as those wee girls once were in their pink frocks, but they’re still delighted with a budget to spend, trying on outfits with abandon. I see the echoes of my same sweet daughters — excited for what’s ahead, not knowing what awaits them. Back then, they were headed to a party. Now, they’re heading into battle — whether they realize it or not.

They look lovely. Not frilly. Just practical, day-to-day clothes to keep them stylish, warm, and ready for anything. They’re going to need them. We’re heading into colder days, both literally and metaphorically, and they’ve got a lot of work ahead of them.

These kids of ours must be ready to learn. To challenge. To fight, when needed. For marriage equality, yes. But also for their bodily autonomy. For justice for those in need. For the very future of our country.

I’ve raised these girls to believe the arc of the moral universe bends toward justice.

Now I know it will only budge if they push harder than we did.

And I’m hopeful they will. Because they’ve seen what love looks like, so they won’t settle for less.

*Names changed for privacy

---

I’m Dana DuBois, a GenX word nerd living in the Pacific Northwest with a whole lot of little words to share. I’m a founder and editor of three publications: Pink Hair & Pronouns, Three Imaginary Girls, and genXy. I write across a variety of topics but parenting, music and pop culture, relationships, and feminism are my favorites. Em-dashes, Oxford commas, and well-placed semi-colons make my heart happy.

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