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So Carol married Anne yesterday. The world, amazingly enough, stayed pretty much the same. Gravity seems unaffected, as most objects have stayed within arms length. Katie the dog seems nonplussed by it, as the chipmunks in the backyard are still too quick for her leaps. Sunrise still came this morning, and sunset last night. Satan, as best could be determined, was still having trouble getting the car valet parked, and the Red Sox faithful still have hope. It seems, by all accounts, to be Wednesday.
But what about the children? You remember them, don’t you? You know, the convenient little drop-off boxes for the bigotry of their parents? How are they doing? Well, let’s see. All reports indicate that they went to school today, and that they tried trading peanut butter sandwiches for ham and cheese, with a sleeve of Oreos thrown in as a kicker. Homework was universally condemned as being far too much for this late in the year, and consensus is that allowances are not nearly enough. Parents, as always, have no clue about anything, and asparagus smells funny, both going in and coming out.
In an amazing surprise, boys and girls are still, well, boys and girls. Boys are sure Amber stinks until about 5th grade or whenever her shape changes, whichever comes first. Girls cannot understand how Trevor can be cute and immature at the same time, but c’est la vie. As best can be determined, the fact that Carol married Anne does not change either of these equations. Trevor could grow up to be President, while Amber at least has a fighting chance. For this we give thanks, and take one step farther down the road.
While their parents hate, the children play. Free for now in a world where colors matter only in a Crayola box, they form their friends based on common bonds and give their love to two mommies if circumstances dictate. For them, love does not need to be qualified. It comes in the tucking in of blankets, or in the reading of yet another story. It shows up on birthdays and sick days, just the same. It never announces its gender.
So Carol married Anne yesterday, and the world stayed the same. Illegal love became legal, and the world stayed the same. As the children skipped through dew covered fields every Carol and Anne in America, whose long ordeal was finally over, watched and hugged and laughed and cried. And waited.
Waited for the children to finish. Waited for just the right moment to ever so quietly slip off their shoes, and to feel the wet grass against their feet. Waited to skip, once again, in the fields of their childhood, to go back to Mrs. Randolph’s math class, and to finally get the question right.
“Carol? Anne? Do either of you know this answer?”
“Yes, Mrs. Randolph. Starting today, one plus one equals one.”
Ain’t that something.
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