[img]1|right|Mr. Ari Noonan||no_popup[/img]Whew.
That was perspiration-close.
My gawd.
For a few hours yesterday, liberals who live for martyrdom, for flopping onto the ground and portraying themselves as permanent professional victims of the latest ephemeral social cause, feared being thrown out of work.
After the Supreme Court happily downgraded the outdated Voting Rights Act, their fury, at least for the cameras, soared. Alas, it was temporary.
The future of the professional victims who dominate the Left was re-upped this morning when the ADD Supreme Court spoke.
They determined that the Bill Clinton-blessed Defense of Marriage Act was unconstitutional and that Prop. 8 in California had the value of stinky sox worn every day of summer vacation, and that gays could marry anyone they wanted, preferably with fewer than four legs.
Further, scolded the ruling, by thunder we should regard the lookalike marrieds as just like us, and by thunder we should perceive the lookalikes as our equals, if not our betters.
Getting Personal
Ten years ago when he was graduating high school, my middle son, who is gay, and I were walking in the Fairfax District.
He had been out for two years.
His shining face was as handsome and lofty as the heavens that afternoon.
Dad, he said, I would like to get married some day (to a man) and have children, the way other people do.
I hope you do, I said – without adding that, as a principle, I oppose gay marriage. He knew that, then and now.
I strongly hope this morning that he marries, if he still wishes, and raises a family.
I do not support gay marriage for the rest of the country, just for my son, because I love him and because now it appears to be legal.
However, I have just salivated into a headwind because my son has no use for me. He lives barely two miles from my office, is angry, has not spoken to me in four years. I would walk to San Francisco or to San Diego for a few minutes with him.
The loss is mine, and I think of him, every day.
