Tag: Wedding day

A Dad’s Dream

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Though nothing is predictable in 2026, the arc of every life includes mostly ordinary activities: going to work; shopping for groceries; filling up the gas tank; navigating small and large challenges that enter unannounced.

But it is the less frequent, extraordinary moments–the rites of passage–that outweigh the mundane tasks of life. Graduations. Weddings. Births. Deaths. They supersede in our psyches. They flicker forever in our memories.

On Saturday, August 29, one hundred and twenty of us gathered at the Firehouse Chicago (a decommissioned firehouse transformed into a wedding venue) in the Edgewater neighborhood of the Second City. We came to witness the marriage of Kirk and Jennifer, my younger son and daughter-in-law.

It is a dream come true for any parent to see their adult child find their own path. To be more specific, this dad survived a heart attack on his sixtieth birthday. So, living to see Kirk marry the one he loves–the one who loves him–is the proverbial cherry on top of a hot fudge sundae.

Jennifer’s and Kirk’s early-evening, outdoor wedding ceremony was a cultural tapestry. It melded elements from their collective Jewish and Catholic upbringing.

For instance, they were married under a chuppah, a rectangular wooden structure laden with flowers. In the Jewish faith, it symbolizes the home they will build together.

After they shared their vows, a proud gay couple (my husband Tom and I) read the couple’s loving intentions for their marriage, for their families, for those who have gone before them, for their community, for the world at large in need of a hefty infusion of love, hope, humanity, equality. In every instance, the response from the congregation came in return: “Hear Our Prayer.”

A brief, unexpected shower in the middle of the ceremony–ushered in by rolling gusts of wind and the steady thrum of chirping cicadas–never dampened our spirits. It only added to the texture of the day.

As I write this, Tom and I are back home in Scottsdale, Arizona. I am fighting off the remnants of a cold. We have unpacked our bags from Chicago but haven’t yet unpacked every indelible moment from this whirlwind family wedding.

I do know in my heart that this was more than a joyous wedding. It was a healing experience to mend fences with my ex. To conjure the spirits of family members gone but still loved. To stand tall beside my husband for all the world to see. To feel true love, palpable and present, beaming between my son and his bride.

All of it gave me hope.

Rushing By

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Like the rumbling Bow River rapids of Alberta, Canada, that raced past me in late July in mountainous Banff, life’s quiet and meaningful moments keep rushing by.

There isn’t much any of us can do about that, except to maximize the present. That’s difficult when the human memory teases us to revisit past indelible images that we magnify through our sensory connections.

For instance, smoke-tinged skies from forest fires that shrouded Kamloops, British Columbia, when we arrived at our hotel there on July 24, 2026, will forever be sealed in my consciousness.

As will the joyful feeling of reverence for nature, as we rode on the Rocky Mountaineer train the following day, slicing through deep, green canyons on the way to Jasper.

If there is a God–and sometimes I wonder given the state of the world and American society–perhaps he, she or they reside in Canada.

That would explain the seemingly endless supply of pines, spruces and aspens north of the border.

Perhaps God plucked the trees from a celestial palette, drew them on mountains that rise from the bottom of the Thompson River’s edge to the height of a soaring eagle’s eyes.

If so, the clouds passing over the Canadian Rockies applauded in unison.

Of course, there isn’t a never-ending supply of trees, natural resources, or shared beautiful moments.

We must protect our environment, cling to the best of our days, and endure the mundane–and the madness–that exists.

Right now in the Valley of the Sun, Tom and I live in a warm (no, hot!) way station between significant summer events.

We relish our Canada adventure as we also prepare–later this month–to fly to Chicago for the wedding of my younger son, Kirk, and his future bride, Jennifer.

I’ve already advised them to reside in the magical moments of their wedding day as much as possible.

To embrace the cool waters of love from each other, from family, and from friends. To let all of it wash over them.

It will be a day that they–and I–will remember always.

The Pursuit of Happiness

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In late October 1997, I traveled from Chicago to Cleveland to co-facilitate a diversity training course for managers of a large financial institution.

Charles was the lead consultant on the project. We had teamed up before. He was black and straight. I was white and gay.

I felt inspired, watching him begin the session, explain the merits of an inclusive workforce, and preach the business rationale for embracing diversity.

The idea was to challenge the bank’s managers to respectfully acknowledge and maximize the differences of employees: skin color, gender, sexual orientation, disabilities, religious and cultural beliefs.

By maximizing the mosaic of its differences, the company would be better equipped to create a more collaborative, welcoming culture that would produce happier employees who could more effectively understand and reflect the needs of diverse customers. I believed every bit of it. I still do.

Charles’ dark skin color was obvious, but perhaps my sexual orientation wasn’t. I typically didn’t divulge my gayness, unless the training warranted it.

At one point, a male manager stood up. He said he believed gay people were immoral. He thought they didn’t deserve respect or equal treatment.

The room of forty managers and two facilitators froze. Somewhere inside, despite my anger, I mustered the words and focus to break the silence and challenge his thinking. Essentially, I said something like the following:

“I’m gay and I don’t believe I’m immoral. I can assure you there are lots of gay employees you work with you, who feel the same way. If they don’t feel respected here, they’ll take their talents elsewhere.”

The manager sat down and mumbled a few comments under his breath. The training continued. Charles smiled. He took the training reigns and proceeded without missing a beat.

It was a watershed moment for me in my personal development and professional life to have the opportunity to defend myself–all LGBTQ people, really–and feel the support of a trusted colleague.

In 1997, I never imagined that one day I would live in a country where it would be legal for two men or two women to marry each other. I never imagined I would have the opportunity to marry the man I love. But, remarkably, it happened.

On September 6, 2014, Tom and I were married before about sixty of our family and close friends. It was a shiny, crisp afternoon in Illinois.

Our sisters walked us down the aisle. Though she was ailing, Tom’s mother made it. She wore the paisley silk scarf we bought for her in Florence, Italy.

Tom and I were surrounded by sunflowers, smiles and a few tears that day. Six years have passed. Though all four of our parents have been gone for five years, with every passing season–with every highlight, loss or moment of vulnerability–our love has grown deeper. I’m thankful for that.

Despite marriage equality in the United States, we now live in a country with a president who believes it’s “un-American” to be different. A few days ago he directed the White House Office of Management and Budget to prevent federal agencies from spending money on diversity training.

I don’t know where this chapter in American history will lead us, but I have faith this dark period will end soon. We are a country founded on the notion of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for all of its people.

Even with all of the hateful comments of the past four years, I think the majority of Americans still believe in freedom and equality. We’ll find out in November.