{"id":20061,"date":"2025-06-25T15:33:16","date_gmt":"2025-06-25T20:33:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/?p=20061"},"modified":"2025-06-27T16:30:58","modified_gmt":"2025-06-27T21:30:58","slug":"unconditionally-loved","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/06\/25\/unconditionally-loved\/","title":{"rendered":"Unconditionally Loved"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"has-large-font-size\"><strong>Unconditionally Loved<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-social-links is-content-justification-right is-layout-flex wp-container-core-social-links-is-layout-765c4724 wp-block-social-links-is-layout-flex\"><li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-facebook  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/profile.php?id=61556140010887\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12 2C6.5 2 2 6.5 2 12c0 5 3.7 9.1 8.4 9.9v-7H7.9V12h2.5V9.8c0-2.5 1.5-3.9 3.8-3.9 1.1 0 2.2.2 2.2.2v2.5h-1.3c-1.2 0-1.6.8-1.6 1.6V12h2.8l-.4 2.9h-2.3v7C18.3 21.1 22 17 22 12c0-5.5-4.5-10-10-10z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Facebook<\/span><\/a><\/li>\n\n<li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-instagram  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/boudin_mcneese\/\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12,4.622c2.403,0,2.688,0.009,3.637,0.052c0.877,0.04,1.354,0.187,1.671,0.31c0.42,0.163,0.72,0.358,1.035,0.673 c0.315,0.315,0.51,0.615,0.673,1.035c0.123,0.317,0.27,0.794,0.31,1.671c0.043,0.949,0.052,1.234,0.052,3.637 s-0.009,2.688-0.052,3.637c-0.04,0.877-0.187,1.354-0.31,1.671c-0.163,0.42-0.358,0.72-0.673,1.035 c-0.315,0.315-0.615,0.51-1.035,0.673c-0.317,0.123-0.794,0.27-1.671,0.31c-0.949,0.043-1.233,0.052-3.637,0.052 s-2.688-0.009-3.637-0.052c-0.877-0.04-1.354-0.187-1.671-0.31c-0.42-0.163-0.72-0.358-1.035-0.673 c-0.315-0.315-0.51-0.615-0.673-1.035c-0.123-0.317-0.27-0.794-0.31-1.671C4.631,14.688,4.622,14.403,4.622,12 s0.009-2.688,0.052-3.637c0.04-0.877,0.187-1.354,0.31-1.671c0.163-0.42,0.358-0.72,0.673-1.035 c0.315-0.315,0.615-0.51,1.035-0.673c0.317-0.123,0.794-0.27,1.671-0.31C9.312,4.631,9.597,4.622,12,4.622 M12,3 C9.556,3,9.249,3.01,8.289,3.054C7.331,3.098,6.677,3.25,6.105,3.472C5.513,3.702,5.011,4.01,4.511,4.511 c-0.5,0.5-0.808,1.002-1.038,1.594C3.25,6.677,3.098,7.331,3.054,8.289C3.01,9.249,3,9.556,3,12c0,2.444,0.01,2.751,0.054,3.711 c0.044,0.958,0.196,1.612,0.418,2.185c0.23,0.592,0.538,1.094,1.038,1.594c0.5,0.5,1.002,0.808,1.594,1.038 c0.572,0.222,1.227,0.375,2.185,0.418C9.249,20.99,9.556,21,12,21s2.751-0.01,3.711-0.054c0.958-0.044,1.612-0.196,2.185-0.418 c0.592-0.23,1.094-0.538,1.594-1.038c0.5-0.5,0.808-1.002,1.038-1.594c0.222-0.572,0.375-1.227,0.418-2.185 C20.99,14.751,21,14.444,21,12s-0.01-2.751-0.054-3.711c-0.044-0.958-0.196-1.612-0.418-2.185c-0.23-0.592-0.538-1.094-1.038-1.594 c-0.5-0.5-1.002-0.808-1.594-1.038c-0.572-0.222-1.227-0.375-2.185-0.418C14.751,3.01,14.444,3,12,3L12,3z M12,7.378 c-2.552,0-4.622,2.069-4.622,4.622S9.448,16.622,12,16.622s4.622-2.069,4.622-4.622S14.552,7.378,12,7.378z M12,15 c-1.657,0-3-1.343-3-3s1.343-3,3-3s3,1.343,3,3S13.657,15,12,15z M16.804,6.116c-0.596,0-1.08,0.484-1.08,1.08 s0.484,1.08,1.08,1.08c0.596,0,1.08-0.484,1.08-1.08S17.401,6.116,16.804,6.116z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Instagram<\/span><\/a><\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Nicole R. Zimmerman<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">My brother believes I was created to find ultimate fulfillment with a Godly <em>man<\/em>, not a woman. \u201cMany parents of homosexuals embrace their children,\u201d he said one evening at a restaurant in Washington, D.C. \u201cBut that\u2019s the wrong way to love them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Our father, who had accompanied me from California to celebrate my nephew\u2019s first birthday, met my gaze across the table and rolled his eyes in commiseration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cYou\u2019ve really brought our parents to the other side,\u201d Michael noted. His wife touched his forearm in mild rebuke. The tension in my lower back tightened. I was accustomed to his moralistic tirades, but now was he outing me? About five years earlier, when I was in my mid-twenties, I told my brother I was bisexual. He called my attraction to women perverted, thinking the sin of my sexual orientation was rooted in an injured relationship with our dad, causing me to resent men. Until then, he\u2019d managed to keep my sexual identity secret.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Our father dipped another slice of bread into a dish of olive oil and waved down the waitstaff. My nephew\u2019s dimpled hands patted my palm, calming me as he cuddled on my lap. I kissed the top of his soft brown curls, breathing in the sweet aroma of baby shampoo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cI know I\u2019m judgmental,\u201d my brother admitted. He said that during high school in San Francisco he often hung out in a gay neighborhood\u2014and loved those people! That is, until he was hit on by another guy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cTypical homophobia,\u201d I said, shaking my head. It infuriated me whenever queerness was linked to exploitation, reinforcing the stereotype of gay men as predatory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cI\u2019m not saying they\u2019re any more evil,\u201d Michael explained. \u201cMany straight guys are unhealthy spiritually, lusting after women. I\u2019m guilty of this, too, but I\u2019m working hard to purify myself. It helps to be in a committed, loving marriage,\u201d he said, nodding at his wife. \u201cBut homosexuals can be very aggressive in their tactics.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cWell, it\u2019s not as if <em>we<\/em><em>\u2019<\/em><em>re<\/em> trying to recruit people!\u201d&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">In 1995, a decade after my brother was coerced into the Unification Church (aka Moonies), he was matched to his wife in a mass wedding called the Blessing. Coincidentally, the following year, the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) was signed into U.S. federal law, banning same-sex marriage. Before the church moved Michael to the east coast, he transferred to U.C. Berkeley from a community college, but when his studies competed with his campus ministry \u201cwitnessing\u201d to students, he dropped out of school. With a women\u2019s studies degree from Santa Cruz, I lived across the bay with our father. I never disclosed my quiet pining for a coworker who accompanied me to a lesbian bar in the Castro, where I soon moved. I maintained a steady simmering for a riot grrrl who toured with a Queercore punk band and accepted my poetry in her zine but around whom I could barely speak, my hunger cocooned in held breath. While my brother amped up his proselytizing efforts I attended the city\u2019s inaugural Dyke March, coined a Celebration of Lesbian Survival, Resistance &amp; Visibility. I went to rallies for reproductive rights and marched down Market Street to protest government apathy to HIV (<em>10,000 SF deaths and rising<\/em>). I danced at Pride parades, wearing T-shirts that read: <em>I Can\u2019t Even Think Straight <\/em>or<em> Nobody Knows I\u2019m Bisexual.<\/em> PFLAG parents walked past with signs like: <em>I raised my child with love and pride, and on this day I\u2019m by her side. With her lover we march today to tell the world I\u2019m proud they\u2019re gay!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I remember my relief when my father, who once visited the third-floor flat I rented with roommates, stood in my small room and glanced around, either not seeing or ignoring a poster on the wall above my single mattress: <em>safe sex is hot sex<\/em>. Two women with shorn hair lay facing one another, one\u2019s pelvis lifted as she took the other\u2019s head in her hands, her tattooed upper arm flexed against her naked breast. I had just begun my first relationship with a woman, but I didn\u2019t dare to introduce them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">So, when he and I walked back to our D.C. hotel after dinner, I couldn\u2019t close the door that had just opened. \u201cIt\u2019s kind of obvious Michael was referring to me. You know I\u2019m bi, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cI thought it was a possibility,\u201d my father said. \u201cNo, a probability.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">He said he had a lot of tolerance\u2014with limitations: he still felt uncomfortable seeing people of the same gender kiss. I appreciated his candor, which also confirmed my hesitancy to come out. He shocked me, however, when he said he figured we all fall somewhere on a continuum between gay and straight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cSome people are more open to that aspect of themselves,\u201d he said. \u201cOthers, who are fearful like your brother, spend a lot of energy repelling it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Michael so fervently protested my queer proclivity that I sometimes wondered whether he shared it. Might there be suppressed desire behind the dogma\u2014an undertow more powerful than he could admit? If his life had taken a different direction might he have, in his own words, gone to the other side, too?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">My wife likes to tell the tale of our beginnings: how she courted me for four months before I admitted it wasn\u2019t just a stable foundation of friendship we forged. The initial spark of attraction isn\u2019t easy to pin down. Maybe it was the morning we spotted a coyote hunting across the street from the school, each of us standing at her classroom window before the second graders poured in. Perhaps it was over appetizers at a wine bar while I shared my online dating woes. I\u2019d only searched the site for male profiles since the website made you choose genders. Kristen listened to my anecdotes with amusement. Then she leaned back in her chair, knees spread wide, adopting an air of nonchalance. \u201cMaybe we should date,\u201d she suggested. I shrugged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">We continued to meet for dinner, a movie, a stroll on the beach, all under my getting-to-know-you pretenses. Until one evening, as I was getting ready to drive the half hour from my granny unit to her farm cottage\u2014later ours\u2014I watched my fingers weave a braid down the side of my hair. I knew she liked the silky look of them. Who was I kidding? I wanted to win her affection!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">That night we sat close together on her sofa without touching, but we both felt the heat of connection. Kristen dug her hands into the pockets of her puffy vest while she gathered her courage. \u201cYou have an effect on me that I\u2019ve never felt before,\u201d she admitted. \u201cI just don\u2019t know what to do about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Her vulnerability, typically masked with bravado, moved me. Her revelation loosened hold of a longing tangled up in me for decades, about to unwind. Taking her hands in mine, I answered with a kiss and stayed the night. Within weeks we knew this one was for keeps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Coming out to my father seven years before was one thing. Seeking his approval while seriously involved with a woman was another. Yet I had no doubt he would like Kristen. They shared a sense of humor and had several interests in common\u2014politics, strategic board games, and young adult fantasy novels, to name a few. My anxiety abated when, the morning of their introduction, he handed me a <em>New Yorker<\/em> cartoon. The opening line: \u201cMom, Dad, I\u2019m gay.\u201d The illustration showed a guy kneeling at his parents\u2019 graves and a caption that read, <em>Boy, that was easy<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Sitting at her kitchen table, he stuffed Danishes into his mouth and brushed the crumbs from his shirt. They made jokes at my expense, which I maximized for comic effect. I knew their teasing was lighthearted, something to bond over. On his way out, Kristen joked that he had special privileges since she let him keep his sneakers on despite her no-shoes rule.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cWell, I\u2019d better stay in good standing with my future daughter-in-law,\u201d he replied, winking at me as he hugged her goodbye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">During our first year together, we celebrated each month with dinner or a coastal weekend away, always accompanied by handwritten cards detailing our compatibility. <em>You soothe my heart and soul, <\/em>I wrote after seven months.<em> So much sexiness, generosity, and humor<\/em>, she wrote at ten. When I sought comfort, Kristen cradled my head against her chest, calling me her \u201cprecious cargo.\u201d Each time she expressed another endearment I replied, \u201cThat\u2019s the sweetest thing you\u2019ve ever said to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The next summer my father invited us to join him, his wife, and my stepsister with her two kids at a vacation house he rented for the week. He also invited my nephew, then nine years old. But my father advised me not to tell my brother about Kristen. Although my nephew had met her briefly on his first trip west the previous year, I hadn\u2019t introduced her then as my girlfriend. This time she would accompany me. I wondered if my brother and his wife had a right to be informed, but I was afraid Michael would instill revulsion in his three boys, guised in religiosity. My father thought that if I told them beforehand then it wouldn\u2019t be fair to his grandson if my brother kept him home.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cJust don\u2019t hold hands,\u201d he suggested when I shared my dilemma.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Kristen wasn\u2019t crazy about concealing our relationship with a keep-it-in-the-bedroom mentality. Her mother\u2019s reaction to her own coming out in college was to cry, believing her daughter was hell-bound. Yet even she who still held faith in her evangelical Christian convictions had welcomed me to home-cooked weekly dinners where I was treated as an equal to her son\u2019s lawfully wedded wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I didn\u2019t like the idea of staying closeted either. Pretending to be friends put everyone in a compromising position, including my stepsister\u2019s young children, who knew us as a couple. Shouldn\u2019t we provide a model of healthy self-respect, not shrouded in shame, I questioned.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">That week, we compromised. We neither displayed nor withheld our affection, but we never explicitly revealed that we were partners and felt ill at ease with the restraint. One afternoon my nephew entered the studio where we stayed and asked, \u201cYou both sleep here? In the bed? Together?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cYes,\u201d I replied, without explanation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Two years into my relationship with Kristen, I still hadn\u2019t told Michael. With the exception of my estranged mother, all of our family, friends, and coworkers knew we were cohabitating. I had recently exchanged email with my brother while helping him with his latest job search, but the personal information I withheld spoke volumes. While I still felt protective of my partnership, I was tired of tiptoeing. I didn\u2019t want a life controlled by a fear of repercussions. Secret-keeping was taking a toll. I couldn\u2019t hide forever. At some point, I\u2019d have to face him. I had granted him power over me for too long. My therapist suggested that for something to become possible we have to make room for its possibility. What if I met my brother from a place of compassion rather than anticipating his reaction? Instead of allowing his displeasure to diminish me, what if I drew upon a source of inner strength that outweighed any negative outcomes?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">One day my brother emailed about a gay instructor he had. He wrote of loving \u201cthe other\u201d regardless of their way of life. Although he didn\u2019t agree with his \u201cchoices,\u201d he valued his personhood. Then he told me about a church elder he\u2019d trusted, someone who molested Michael when he was nineteen\u2014one of the worst experiences in his life. My brother ran into him years later with the man\u2019s wife and kids. \u201cI felt sorry for them because I\u2019m sure he was still living a double life. It wouldn\u2019t be right if I was living \u2018another life\u2019 in the shadows, like that brother, never telling my family what I was up to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I immediately responded, reminding my brother that all people have the potential to cause harm, gay or straight. I understood about living in the shadows and disclosed that I, too, had not been transparent. Finally, I unveiled my relationship with Kristen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">My brother replied that he and his wife accepted me, even loved me unconditionally. However, they did not approve of my \u201cunprincipled lifestyle.\u201d He was still hopeful I wouldn\u2019t give up on men completely and wished I\u2019d find one good man who could love me forever. He had a \u201cpreviously homosexual\u201d friend who \u201cturned himself straight.\u201d He offered professional help\u2014\u201cJust as there is a movement for gays to \u2018come out,\u2019 there\u2019s also a movement for gays to \u2018come out straight\u2019\u201d\u2014while acknowledging that I might be offended by the idea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">After fearing the worst, I was honestly relieved. At least he didn\u2019t threaten, as he\u2019d done years before, that I\u2019d never see my nephews again. But he did make one thing clear: he and his family refused to engage with Kristen. They would not talk openly with their children about it, not at least until they were much older. They wanted to shield them from this type of \u201cunnatural and unhealthy\u201d relationship at all costs: \u201cWe teach them homosexuality is a direct violation of Heavenly Law. NOT THAT WE DON&#8217;T LOVE YOU. WE DO!!\u201d Michael encouraged me to try to break things off with Kristen, reminding me that what we do on earth will be carried into the Spirit World, which is eternal. He signed his missive: \u201cLove forever, despite our divergent beliefs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Five years after our first kiss, Kristen and I climbed over a fence separating our backyard from the fields beyond. The grass, still green from February rains, made good pasture for sheep that grazed. On a knoll above the cottage we put down a beach blanket and sat under the shade of a cork oak her father planted as a boy. Kristen used to play under these trees, she told me, searching for acorns and making pinch pots from clay. \u201cNever would I have dreamed that someday I\u2019d be here with the woman I love, ready to share the rest of our lives together.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">She handed me a Champagne flute before popping open a bottle of Iron Horse Wedding Cuv\u00e9e. That afternoon we\u2019d registered as domestic partners\u2014the closest thing approximating the rights and privileges afforded heterosexual couples since voters in the state of California outlawed gay marriage in 2008. Making our union official was a serious step we had contemplated for months, a commitment with legal significance, though the informality of signing a document with a notary public at the local UPS store was hardly commemorative. So we created a private ceremony.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I lit a candle and read a poem by Dawna Markova: \u201cI Will Not Die an Unlived Life.\u201d Kristen picked up a flat skipping rock, worn smooth by river currents, which she\u2019d brought home from a fishing trip near the start of our relationship. It reminded me of streams in the Eastern Sierra where we camped, hiking to glacier lakes, soaking in hot springs, and sleeping below snowy peaks surrounded by the scent of sagebrush. The rock symbolized the steadfastness of our love; whenever we experienced turbulence, one of us removed it from its perch on a bookshelf and placed it in an open palm\u2014a solid reminder that our loyalty was unshakeable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cI will always treasure and care for you,\u201d we promised, clinking our glasses in a toast and basking in the golden light turning toward dusk, just the two of us on the hill and a red-tailed hawk flying overhead as witness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Six months later, Michael brought his middle son, who was ten years old, to our paternal grandfather\u2019s funeral. We stayed in the same hotel as our father and his wife, several aunts and uncles, and ten cousins. Kristen had already met some of our relatives at a cousin\u2019s Bat Mitzvah in Chicago\u2014officiated by my uncle, a rabbi with two gay adult children\u2014followed by a family reunion held in Cleveland to celebrate Grandpa\u2019s birthday not long before he died. When she and I walked toward the dining area for the hotel\u2019s complimentary breakfast, I watched my brother\u2019s face drop. Maybe he had forgotten she existed. Or it just hadn\u2019t occurred to him that my partner would accompany me across the country. When I introduced them, he offered a cursory nod. Then, without a word, he left my nephew alone with us at the table and escaped to his room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">My father, who was writing the eulogy, also stayed behind closed doors. While he and Michael kept to themselves, my nephew ran around the atrium with his cousins and took the glass-walled elevators up and down as I kept an eye on him. At the chapel Michael sat by himself in the back row, his head bowed and eyes closed tight while he rocked slightly with his hands between his knees. His son, looking uncertain, stood alone to the side, so I invited him to sit next to us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cDad was small in size, but a giant in stature,\u201d our father began, a hanky in hand while he stood at the podium. \u201cHe was gifted in relating to people. He could communicate so much with less than a dozen words. In his quiet way, he led an exemplary life.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I had come out to my Grandpa during his first year of widowhood, when he was ninety-one. I told him I was bringing \u201csomeone special\u201d to that Bat Mitzvah. \u201cA <em>girlfriend<\/em>,\u201d I clarified. He didn\u2019t miss a beat. \u201cI understand,\u201d he replied.&nbsp;As long as I was happy, he told me, that&#8217;s what mattered. When I described Kristen as funny and intelligent, he said he\u2019d expect my match to have such positive attributes. When I mentioned that we met at the school where I later stopped teaching, he chuckled and said, \u201cYou got a lot out of that job after all!\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">As I stood at the gravesite with Kristen\u2019s arms around me, Michael stood beside us and placed his hands on his son\u2019s shoulders. One cousin spoke about naming the eldest of his three children after our grandfather and choked up as he recalled the wonderful times they\u2019d all spent together. Then my brother rambled on, confessing his regrets that his own kids never knew our grandparents, despite only living a six-hour drive away. Reflecting on my father\u2019s eulogy, I recounted my coming out to Grandpa and told our small gathering about his magnanimous response. \u201cIn my eyes, you can do no wrong,\u201d he had reassured me. I was aware of breaking my brother\u2019s taboo against truth-telling in the presence of my nephew. Even then I felt the strength of my grandfather\u2019s unconditional love, unwavering.<br><br>Opening a cedar chest under the window seat in the farmhouse, Kristen\u2019s mother selected tablecloths for crystal vases we\u2019d fill with roses for the commitment ceremony we planned that summer. She even hired a few of her church friends to pass out sparkling wine and clean up after the reception. My father paid for the taco truck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">A friend played a violin rendition of Bach\u2019s <em>Jesu, Joy Of Man&#8217;s Desiring<\/em>, a piece from Kristen\u2019s parents\u2019 wedding, as they accompanied her down a garden aisle to our chuppah, held in honor of my Jewish heritage. Supported by four poles and open on all sides, the cloth canopy signified the home we shared. Our guests gathered around this symbolic sanctuary to demonstrate their community support.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cYou have the responsibility to hold in your hearts the best intentions, love, hope, and health for these two wonderful people,\u201d our officiant announced. During several premarital sessions she counseled us in performing nuptial rites that would be meaningful to us both. She\u2019d introduced the concept that as two individuals we created a third entity, our relationship, which needed our nurturing attention in order to thrive. In lieu of exchanging rings, we held our river rock between us. We vowed to encourage, inspire, cherish, and sustain one another\u2014and this entity\u2014throughout our days. My aunt and uncle offered a blessing. Then came the pronouncement:<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; \u201cBy the power vested in me by the State of California to marry<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <em>some<\/em> people, and by the power that should be vested in me to marry&nbsp;<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <em>all<\/em> people, it is my deepest honor to declare you equal and wed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">When we planned our ceremony for late June 2013, we couldn\u2019t have predicted that just the day before, the U.S. Supreme Court would strike down DOMA as well as restore marriage equality in California, making our matrimony both state-sanctioned and federally recognized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Our reception was held under the sprawling branches of a coast live oak Kristen\u2019s grandmother had planted from a seedling. We stood on the raised front porch and faced seventy wedding guests under its majestic canopy. My father raised a glass. To hardly a dry eye, he toasted our marriage and the legal reversal that legitimized it. My mother-in-law spoke of love not just as a feeling, but as action\u2014made in an atmosphere of protection and perseverance. Then she gave us her blessing: \u201cMay you find your way together as you have committed yourselves to each other in love.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The evening news, which previewed that weekend\u2019s Pride festivities, showcased couples just like us, making history.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>Two months later, right before I flew to D.C. to visit my nephews, my brother called. I told him about the wedding we had, which we didn\u2019t invite him to. He called it disgusting. \u201cWell, all the relatives and friends who showed up to honor our love disagree,\u201d I said. It wasn\u2019t an easy decision to leave out his family, to not even tell them, but his hostility was unwelcome. \u201cFor nearly three decades you\u2019ve made your position clear,\u201d I stated, \u201cand I will no longer tolerate your belligerence.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">After that phone call, my brother softened his stance. The following summer our youngest nephew, at age eleven, stayed overnight with us in the cottage. His visit set a template for many to follow. Each time we hosted our nephews thereafter, my brother expressed only gratitude. Eventually, one holiday season, he addressed a card to us both. He even drew a heart over Kristen\u2019s name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-color has-link-color has-medium-font-size wp-elements-2c5ffb44c842d92e1dc7ea50ede2cb36\" style=\"color:#000000\"><strong><a href=\"https:\/\/www.nicolerzimmerman.com\">Nicole R. Zimmerman<\/a><\/strong> (she\/her) is a queer Jewish American writer with an MFA from the University of San Francisco. Her writing appears in the <em>New York Times<\/em> (Tiny Love Stories), <em>Longreads, Sonora Review, The Rumpus<\/em>, and <em>Creative Nonfiction<\/em>, among other publications. Nicole lives with her wife in northern California where she leads workshops using the Amherst Writers &amp; Artists (AWA) method. She is working on a memoir entitled <em>Just Some Things We Can&#8217;t Talk About.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>__________<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"alignleft size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"438\" height=\"211\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-15484\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg 438w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1-300x145.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 438px) 100vw, 438px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-large-font-size\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/06\/25\/cracked\/\" data-type=\"post\" data-id=\"20057\">\ud83e\udca0 Back<\/a> <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">To learn more about submitting your work to <em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/boudin-submissions\/\">Boudin<\/a><\/em> or applying to McNeese State University&#8217;s Creative Writing <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/mfa-application-submissions\/\">MFA program<\/a>, please visit Submissions for details.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Unconditionally Loved Nicole R. Zimmerman __________ My brother believes I was created to find ultimate fulfillment with a Godly man, not a woman. \u201cMany parents of homosexuals embrace their children,\u201d he said one evening at a restaurant in Washington, D.C. \u201cBut that\u2019s the wrong way to love them.\u201d Our father, who had accompanied me from&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":42,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[231],"tags":[75,14,232],"class_list":["post-20061","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-pride","tag-boudin","tag-cnf","tag-creative-nonfiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20061","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/42"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20061"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20061\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20164,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20061\/revisions\/20164"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20061"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20061"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20061"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}