Whoa! What a week. From the minute to the momentous. From everyday slights to the evisceration of things we hold dear. From personal triumphs to the deathbed of a world hero.
What a difference a week makes.
The Supreme Court taketh away and the Supreme Court giveth (with caveats). But before all the epic decisions, the Supreme Court punteth the ball. Yep, punt on affirmative action, gut the Voting Rights Act, and hold that the Federal government cannot demean or injure what a state seeks to protect, in matters within a state’s purview.
So if you are a gay, non-white Democrat in a Red State, you can’t get married to your partner, you may not be able to vote and you certainly cannot have the totality of your identity and your life story considered in any application to higher education.
If, however, you are gay, white, Democrat in a Blue State, you probably get to claim an iPad as a winning contestant in the Supreme Court sweepstakes.
How’s that for “equal protection under the laws”?
I am thrilled that Edie Windsor, who in her own words, was “just an out lesbian suing the United States of America,” prevailed and DOMA is DEAD. It was a thrill and an honor to go to Sabbath Services on Gay Pride Weekend to hear Edie, who talked about her spouse, Thea (of blessed memory), just a little before Edie started to cry, and then have hundreds of people standing up to cheer her.
Get the documentary on them. It is beautiful and sad and just simply a true (non-Hollywood) love story.
People sometimes ask, “why gay PRIDE?” Because if you have felt marginalized, shamed, invisible, unwanted, a veritable punching bad for angry people and all of society’s ills, then you need to own your identity and say that you are proud and not ashamed. It is important for those still in the closet — of any kind — and our children.
I suspect that Mandela is hovering between life and death only through the curse of modern medicine, while politicians figure out the best time to announce his death. Call me cynical. The world will be different on the day that the man who presided over immense change in Africa and, indeed, the whole world, is declared dead. One person can make a difference, but there are only too few in any generation who are truly capable. We will have lost (or did we already lose) a hero.
SOS went off to sleep away camp for seven weeks. Both POB and I were happy, sad, scared and proud that he hopped on the bus with someone he met previously who was also going to the same camp. Hugs, but no tears. A watershed moment in our baby’s growth.
I stopped a client in the hallway of our firm and greeted him. He was momentarily caught off-guard and then said, “[Blogger], you look great; I would never have recognized you!!!” And then he dug himself deeper to a point at which I had to say, “Don’t worry, a little hair color and make-up can really make ALL the difference . . . ” I expect that from Dad’s mother (“You look so gut, I vouldn’t recognize you, dahlink.”) but not anyone born after World War II.
Fom petty slights to soaring heights. From a widow’s indignation to liberation for so many. From tiny family triumphs (and the funny slights) to a loss for all humanity. From the mundane to the immortal. From the set-backs to the steps forward and then reluctance to decide. The juxtaposition of all of these make the important events stand apart, in stark relief — some to be celebrated, some to be worried over, one to be mourned.
What a week it was. Good thing I fastened my seat belt.
