Imagine a boy, four years old. He plays with Tonka trucks in the dirt, creating vast imaginary cities and digging great imaginary canyons.
Imagine the boy five years later, nine years old, swinging at a fastball and slapping it over the shortstop's head to score the winning run on opening day of little league.
Imagine this boy at twelve, his friends teasing him about Cindy Lou having a secret crush on him. He doesn't understand why he hates the teasing. He just wants to hang out with his friends.
Imagine this boy at fifteen, discovering he has a deep crush on someone in his science class. He can't wait to see this classmate, to pass notes and sit close while examining the petri dish or reading the digital scale. He checks his breath before class, thinks about this person at night in the dark alone in his bed.
Imagine this boy at nineteen, intoxicated by the new blood he's found at college. He's moved on from high school crushes and has new infatuations, new loves. He understands his immaturity, his need to spread his wings. He falls into bed as often as he can. He learns to become a man--what it is to have his heart broken, and to break another's heart. And he matures from the experience.
Imagine this man at twenty eight, now with the same lover for five years and certain it's true and forever. He still gets a thrill pulling into the driveway after a long day at work, enjoys lying in bed together on a lazy Saturday morning, grocery shopping together and driving through the countryside.
Now imagine that this man's love is another man.
You already knew what to expect at the end of my monolog, didn't you? You already knew, from reading my previous posts, that I was going to drop the gay thing on you, and you're rolling your eyes thinking, "C'mon, Pete, you telegraphed that from the word Tonka."
Now imagine the boy in this story is your own son.
And now think about what your yes vote on Prop 8 accomplished.