By Pops Peterson
Our wedding was the talk of the town on June 5, 2010. We weren’t the most famous blue bloods in the Berkshires, but there were several reasons tongues were wagging like frisky puppy tails. For one, we were not just the rare gay couple exchanging vows in a high-profile venue, Stonover, we were also an interracial gay couple, curiosity of curiosities. And, perhaps most importantly, one of the two grooms happened to be Mark Johnson of SEVEN salon.spa, who’d blabbed about nothing but his wedding plans to the hundreds of stylish heads in his chair for the previous six months.
Each highlight and cut was told of the 4-course catering menu by Marketplace; the bluegrass band we booked for the cocktails, Housatonic Philharmonic; the swinging jazz band we hired for the dining hour, Wanda Houston; and the arrogant NYC DJ, name withheld, whom we imported for the boogie bash in the newly refurbished Stonover barn, which we lit up like a psychedelic disco, light show courtesy of Drew Suto. By all accounts, our celebration of love and commitment was simply glorious! But now, after 13 years, I am confessing publicly, dear reader, that the whole event turned out to be a fraud! After all the pomp, the music, the prayers, all the thousands of miles traveled by friends and relatives, all the jubilation, the love and support of the whole community not to mention enough cash spent for a year at Harvard, the dream that came true for me and my love…turned out not to be legal!
I discovered this horror myself two days later, looking over the paperwork. The lifelong friend who married us, a nondenominational pastor whose ordination ceremony we’d attended in a cathedral in New York, was not registered to perform weddings in Massachusetts, just New York! Everyone I saw on the street, every client who came into the salon who congratulated me and wished me happiness, stuck another dagger into my heart with their blessings. I held my tongue while feigning pride and joy rather than admit to this farce. The pastor apologized and of course we forgave them. They promised to come back to the Berkshires as soon as they could get the proper papers and have a do-over, but they couldn’t do this for a month and a half!
Then came the longest, most awkward stretch of time I’ve ever endured—technically a continuation of our engagement, which also came about backwards. Mark and I had been together for 20 years. When we met, in 1990, the idea of a same-sex marriage seemed as absurd as flying elephants. It was a given that we’d never be able to fully—legally—live our lives with honor, integrity, and openness. A dear aunt had even banned Mark from her house. We opened our business in such a progressive community—the Berkshires—but we still felt we must hide from vendors and potential employees the true nature of our relationship. An incident at the DMV, when I was not allowed to sign a certain paper over a vehicle because we weren’t legally married, was just a hint of what could happen to us even though we had been living together, sharing everything, faithfully, for decades. What if this had been a life-or-death Emergency?
Then, on February 1, 2008, a miracle happened: New York State (we live just across the border) decided to recognize same-sex marriages from other states! All we had to do was hold the wedding in Massachusetts, and we’d be all set. So we decided we would definitely get married. The question: Who was going to propose to whom?
Facebook was new on the scene in 2009 and Mark and I were in a heavy competition to accumulate the most friends. He bristled at my relationship status, which I had set to “single,” and urged me to change it to “in a relationship” or “it’s complicated.” I changed it to “engaged,” figuring that when he accepted the status change, the public at large would see it and we would be official. As it turned out, although Facebook didn’t release a relationship status with a mother, brother or other relative until that relative verified it was true, for engagements they just let it fly! Within minutes, I was showered with congratulatory messages and emojis. Then somebody commented, “Does Mark know? There’s nothing about it on his page!”
Mark changed his status as soon as he found out, and on June 5, 2010, we were married—just not legally. An interminable six weeks later, our friend the pastor returned to the Berkshires, fully authorized. We finally signed our papers and were pronounced husband and husband in Rouge Restaurant on July 11.
All these years later, both of our anniversary dates come and go, and we don’t acknowledge either of them. It’s too confusing, and what’s in a date, anyway? All that matters is the love we share and the legal rights we enjoy as a married couple, with a legally married non-binary child, a legal daughter-in-law, and a gorgeous grandson. Our family is growing, and I’ve never known so much love.
