I’ve never really been into the whole “gay marriage” thing. I’ve never really needed it, or felt like having it was something that really pertained much to me in my life. It never seemed important to my situations.

Maybe I was failing to see the bigger picture.

Maybe I’ve always had a hard time believing that something like that could ever happen to me, so why care if it can happen for someone else.

It’s funny how things change.  One day you wake up and you’re just a complete different person, with completely different ideas, and completely different goals.

Maybe I just never  had the right person in my life. One that makes you feel like you’re the most amazing person in the entire world.

Maybe I’ve never needed the thought of gay marriage, because I’ve never believed in someones’ ability to be gay and married. I’m not sure.

I believe that working in the bars for so long has been both the best and worst thing that could happen to me. The best part of it, is that you truly learn how to read people. You learn so much about people in general, and that knowledge is invaluable. Though, that’s also the worst part of it. You see people make mistakes. You see different sides of them. Sides you shouldn’t. Sides you wish you didnt. I’ve seen so many people that I thought were committed to their significant other, make decisions that show otherwise. And while it’s never anyones’ business….you find yourself frustrated with the situations in general. Eventually, you start to see just how much more difficult the gay community would be if marriage was allowed. You find yourself not wanting the label on your own relationship. Like it’s the mark of death or something.

Factor in the fact that I come from a broken home, raised predominately by my father, (with a shit ton of help from my grandparents) and you can see why I might not be a huge supporter of it.

However, the older I get the more I see the appeal.

I know what it feels like to love a person so much that you want to share everything with them. I know what it feels like to love a person so much that you want the world to be able to see that love. I know what it feels like to be afraid that the person that you love more than anything might not be able to see you in the hospital, or have the right to make decisions for you when you aren’t able to.

Today, like any other day I woke up and got online. I checked my email, my blog, my facebook, and whatever other sites that happen to be included in my daily check-up-ons.

I read lots of things on facebook. People unable to sleep. People feeling sick and being angry. People being awake too early, or just inviting the world to know that they love their particular significant other. But, one thing bothered me, and inspired me to write this blog. This.

“THIS SAYS IT ALL!!!!! Shame on you America: the only country where we have homeless without shelter, children going to bed without eating, elderly going without needed meds, and mentally ill without treatment – yet we have a benefit for the people of Haiti on 12 TV stations. 99% of people won’t have the guts to copy and repost this.. Guess what – I do!”

I found this posted by several different people. People I barely know, people I’m close with.

I say to those people, that you should be ashamed of yourselves.

We live in a country that has always been the model for freedom. People come to America to start their lives over. To give themselves hope and opportunity. There are people that die, trying to live in this country, to be a part of our liberties, our advantages, and our determination.

Would you suggest, that we as a nation, rip every ounce of compassion towards the rest of the world out from our insides? Would you ask that  we stop being human beings that offer support to those that need it?

Tonight, while standing behind the bar waiting for someone; anyone, to show up, I started thinking about things.

I remembered how easier things were as a kid. I remember having no responsibilities. No severe consequences.

I remember not having to worry about money, and relationships. How to make ends meet, or how to pull them closer together.

I remember being in school.  I remember being praised by my grandparents.

“That’s my boy”, my grandpa would say while pointing at a chubby faced picture of me he kept in the living room on his piano, on display for everyone to see.

Coming from a family full of black sheep, I remember being designated “the one to succeed”.

I was the smart one. The one that was going to go places. The one that was going to be someone. The one to prove the theory that the men on my fathers’ side of the family weren’t always going to be failures.

I remember how jealous it made my cousins. I often got bullied because of it. How were they ever going to get outside of my shadow. And, how was I ever going to be inside of it.

I always felt pressured. Like, there was too much hope placed upon me. Like, no matter what, I was always going to disappoint someone. Like, I’d never be able to be everything that they wanted.

Of course, these high expectations were washed away when I came out of the closet. I stopped being the one that was going to go to college. The one that was going to go places, had suddenly only become the one that was going to hell. I became the blackest sheep in the herd. And, eventually I felt like every single one of them led me to the slaughterhouse.