Prop8 or Prop-hate?
On January 1, 1994 I had been married 11 years and had two small children. My husband and I sat down to talk about the problems we were having. It was a new year and I was creating an opportunity to start fresh. Our arguments and his general mood had progressively worsened. He wasn’t happy and neither was I. The discussion was sane and amicable but the lines were drawn. We both needed to commit 100 percent to mending the relationship or there was no need in going further. He agreed but wanted time to think. As we both took in a deep breath, I felt like I had literally been hit with a lightening bolt. I don’t know where the question came from or why I asked at that moment. I certainly wasn’t prepared for the answer. “You’re gay, aren’t you?” He paused and responded, “Yes.” Tears welled up in his eyes. I crossed the room to where he was sitting and knelt down, hugging him, reassuring him. “It’s okay,” I said. “At least now I know what is wrong and why you’ve been so miserable.” He hadn’t...
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