Licensed under Creative Commons 2.0. Attribution ShawnHenning at flickr.com

The Supreme Court heard arguments Tuesday and Wednesday on a divisive political issue, gay marriage. Facebook flamed red with supporters brandishing equality profile pictures and dissenters expressing their disdain. It is easy to fall into a political rant, but that cup overflows with zealotry.

To say this issue is polarizing is akin to saying the sun is kind of hot.

My favorite is the belief that legalizing gay marriage will magically grant people the ability to marry their pets or inanimate objects. This is juvenile to the point of self-ridicule. And works both ways. Think about it. If they make gay marriage illegal, then soon interracial marriage will be illegal. Then goes heterosexual marriage followed closely by having sex at all! Soon we will be a nation of jerk-offs!

To say this issue is polarizing is akin to saying the sun is kind of hot. Protesters march for both sides with equal fervor. Amidst all the noise people have coined terminologies to espouse their views. The homosexual agenda. The gay community. Adam and Steve. Equal rights activists. Watching politics from my dorm, I feel estranged. It seems as though something has been forgotten amongst the screams.

I was 12 when I realized I was, am still and forever shall be, gay. When my father found out, he issued an ultimatum: stop being gay, or hand back his suicide note so he could use it. When I told my mother she looked me in the eye and failed to restrain tears as she asked, “What did I do?”

That is why I am writing under a pseudonym. I am forced to lie to my family about who I am. To them I’m Clark Kent. I adjust my glasses, pine over Lois Lane and work hunched over my desk. But beneath my shirt, a few ripped buttons away, is a colorful revelation.

I kissed my first boy when I was 18. This was a miracle for two reasons…

I kissed my first boy when I was 18. This was a miracle for two reasons: that I had allowed myself to live that long, and that I could feel so happy. What followed is typical for first relationships. I fell in love. He broke my heart.

Marriage is something so far in my future lightsabers may be part of the ceremony. But it does affect me. Being told I lack the right to express love for my Mr. Right reminds me of the night I once held my father’s suicide note in my hands. It makes me feel like buttoning up my shirt and putting on my glasses. It makes me feel alien.

Part of me is uncomfortable with how personal this article is. It feels selfish, like I’m thrusting self-importance in a nation-size issue. But that’s actually the point. I’m not trying to convince anyone to march in Pride wearing a rainbow flag as a cape. This is no political polemic. Too often we lose ourselves in issues and propaganda and sound and fury that the heart of the debate is forgotten. I’m being told I’m an alien. That I don’t really fall in love. That I don’t have the same rights as everyone else.

My Clark Kent/Superman metaphor is slightly flawed since he is technically not human. So I failed on a few levels in this article. I hope you forgive me. For meandering. For being melodramatic. But to err is human.

And I am human, after all.