I’ve been thinking about this post for almost two weeks now, waiting to see if the anger would subside.

I don’t write well when I’m angry - or at least, I don’t always write clearly. And I was hoping that if the fury would calm itself, then maybe I would be able to say something constructive on the subject. Maybe I’d find a voice of reason that someone, somewhere would hear.

But alas, no. I still find myself shaking with rage and indignation every time I think about it.

It would be gays in the military.

It would be Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

It would be the legal discrimination that we allow to permeate throughout a democratic country under the banner of “tolerance” and “acceptance”.

It’s not that I never knew it existed. I’ve heard the term “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” floated around the various media outlets. I was aware that homosexuality wasn’t exactly celebrated in the United States military.

But I was completely naive about how far our country would go to uphold what I assumed was merely a tongue in cheek mandate meant to brush aside an issue we simply weren’t ready to talk about yet.

I assumed that the US government was taking the same stance on homosexuality that many Americans take. Which is, basically to say, it’s not that we hate gays OK? We just don’t want to have to watch men making out on the street because it kind of creeps us out. Do what you’re going to do, just don’t rub it in our face. Deal?

And Americans everywhere say… Deal. And we pat ourselves on the back for being so tolerant and accepting. Look at us! We love The Gays!

One June 25th I listened to a man who had experienced that Deal first hand. Howard was a guest on the Jestertunes Radio Show and he shared with the listeners his experience with the US Navy.

He expressed his appreciation for the Navy. He encouraged people to serve if they felt called to do so. And he did so even though the Navy had summarily kicked him out on his homosexual behind when they found out he was gay.

He was court marshaled - for being gay. His discharge papers noted his offense as “sodomy” - the official reason he was no longer fit to serve his country. And he’s not alone.

According to the Pentagon, over 1200 people were discharged from the military in 2001 under the “don’t ask, don’t tell” rule. In fact, the military kicked out an average of more than 1,000 people a year from 1997-2001 for the inexcusable offense of homosexuality.

Oh but wait! Those numbers are old! Since The War That Is Not Really A War began that number has dropped to less than 750 gays per year dismissed from the military.

Apparently being gay isn’t quite as big a deal if there’s a higher chance you’re going to get killed.

I was outraged when I first heard this. The more I read about it, the more outraged I become.

My first response was that this was wrong. And unfair. And that it just doesn’t make any sense to me that in the year 2008 it is still OK for American citizens to be penalized for being gay.

The first logical response I had was that this was legally hypocritical.

The United States Military is funded by tax dollars. It is, in essence, one of the largest employers in the country where we - as tax payers - sign the checks. How in the hell could they be allowed to enforce employment discrimination that would be grounds for serious legal action if it occurred in the private sector? How many times have I heard about discrimination being forbidden by the Equal Employment Opportunity Laws?

Shouldn’t our government be held to the same legal standard that we hold private businesses to?

Oh. Apparently they are.

Because in the United States - a country that prides itself on a history of Civil Wars and Civil Liberties and Civil Rights Acts - it is still very, very legal to discriminate.

Not if you’re black.

Or hispanic.

Or female.

Or disabled.

But if you’re homosexual?

Fair game.

As the federal laws stand right now, there is absolutely no protection for homosexuals against discrimination in the work place. Let’s not even touch the whole “right to be married” issue for a moment. I can at least entertain the argument for a nanosecond that marriage brings up issues of religion and defining what constitutes a marriage and blah blah blah.

But we’re talking about the right to earn a paycheck. We’re talking about American citizens being promised that if they do the work they receive the pay. We’re talking about the exact same rights that we have already decided decades ago were a given for every single one of us.

While I am fully aware that there is still talk of Boys Clubs and racism is still very prevalent and women across the country are still holding rallies demanding fair pay… they at least have the law on their side. Theirs is a battle that legislators would at the very least publicly validate.

But homosexuality? Homosexuality is, legally, a second class citizenship.

How in the hell is that possible?

And where have I been that I did not fully understand how disgustingly antiquated our laws were?

I’ll tell you where I’ve been. I’ve been hiding out under my Tolerance Rock. I’ve been hanging with the Live and Let Live crowd, believing that by being “tolerant” of gays that I was somehow doing them a favor.

Homosexuality is no longer something that this country can afford to “tolerate”.

You “tolerate” a petulant child who is making too much noise in the booth behind you at your favorite restaurant. To tolerate is to “put up with” or “endure”. To tolerate is to allow it to exist, although you might not approve. To tolerate is to permit, as if you have some sort of authority to do so.

It is no longer sufficient for us to merely tolerate gay Americans.

By doing so, we smile in their faces while condemning millions of tax paying citizens to an existence without basic civil liberties.

It is time for us, for me, to move beyond tolerance. Beyond grudging acceptance.

Because whether you choose to date/marry/fornicate with men or women - whether you understand homosexuality on a personal level or not - the fact remains that we are talking about people who have the exact same rights to the same protections under the laws as everyone else.

You cannot stand for Women’s Rights and not insist on the same considerations for gays.

You cannot stand for Racial Equality and not demand that sexual orientation be included in the Equal Employment Opportunity Laws.

Over the last two weeks I have asked myself many times - what can I do? Because this is simply too big to just shake my head at and hope that someone else will make it right. But, I’m not a general or a lawmaker or an opinion maker. I don’t write a national column that millions of people read. I’m not a lobbyist or a reporter or a pollster.

But I am a voter.

It’s no secret that I have supported Obama since before he was even the nominee. It should come as no surprise to anyone reading this that I am a registered Democrat.

But even still, I was ready to base my vote - possibly change my vote - on this issue if necessary. Because I believe that more than oil prices or foreign policies or wars or taxes or education or health care that this is what our country is about.

More than any other issue, this country is rooted and built upon the protection of inalienable rights. Our idealisms begin and end with the lofty concept of equality. If I was ever prepared to make a single issue vote, this would be the one to do it over.

After doing my own research, I have found that I will, in fact, be changing my vote.

I am not just voting for Obama.

I am also voting against John McCain.

One year ago today, the Earth stopped spinning the way it had spun before.

Babe, I promise you - we remember today, but we never, never forget.

Just when you think you have nothing to blog about…

Your 8-year-old son overhears you (OK, hears you because you were in the car rocking out with him in the backseat) singing that “I kissed a girl and I liked it!” and asks “why would a girl say she was kissing a girl? And she thinks it’s wrong and right? What is she talking about?” and you make the awkward moment go away by pretending like you don’t hear him, and then of course you mention it to one of your gay friends later who tells you that you TOTALLY FAILED AT PARENTING! and should have answered his question and it’s not too early to start talking about it because someone else probably already is and this gay friend of yours says:

“Hey, why don’t you ask your son tomorrow if he’s ever heard the word fag?”

And so, you do.

Well, eventually. But first you start out small.

“Devin, have you ever heard the word gay?”

The crestfallen look on his face gave me the answer before he managed to mumble, “yeah”.

“Really?” I’m fairly certain I failed to keep the shock from my voice. “When?”

“Uhhh, pretty much every day when they call me it.”

“Who calls you that?”

“Uhhh, like half the kids at daycare.”

“What the fuck do you mean half the kids at daycare? Where the hell are the adults I at that daycare that I am paying to make sure you are having a happy childhoood? Why in God’s name would a child ever say that to another child? How did you not ever tell me this before so that I could beat the ever loving shit out of these little brats? You give me names, Son. Give me names now and I will call down The Wrath upon the heads of these little son of a bitches!” I screamed in my head.

Outwardly I swallowed my tongue and clung to my composure.

“Do you know what that word means?” I asked him.

“No,” he shook his head, “but I know they say it because they think it’s the very worst thing they can say to me.”

CRASH. BOOM. BANG. That would be the sound of my son’s innocence shattering at my feet, along side my hope that he would remain untouched by bigotry and hate so long as he remained in elementary school.

“Sweetheart, gay is not the worst thing that someone can say to someone, but the way they are using it is very, very nasty. Gay means that a boy likes boys or a girl likes girls.”

“Uhhh… you mean like boyfriend/boyfriend or girlfriend/girlfriend.”

“Yep, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Well that is definitely not me.”

The insistence in his voice pierced my heart as I watched him recoil at the idea of homosexuality being associated with him.

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We got home from Parkersburg Sunday morning.

I wonder if I’ll ever be able to use that word again without an overwhelming flood of emotions, not the least of which is guilt. And confusion. And just raw, raw, raw… emotion. My perception of home has changed dramatically in the last week.

It is a strange thing to stand in the rubble of the town that you fought so hard to leave. I remembered how defiant I had been, convinced that I was bigger than this place. More, somehow, than these people. It shames me even now to write those words. I left kicking and screaming, hell bent on proving myself.

I ran back desperate to connect with any part of it I could find.

I found it difficult to look them in the eyes, these people I’d abandoned. I’d been so maliciously proud when I’d finally stopped referring to them as Home. I’d moved on. Left them behind. And as they clung to one another I found I was ashamed that I was no longer one of them. How could I tell them now how wrong I’d been? How could I make them understand that this was my home too? How could they believe that my heart was just as broken and shattered and thrown about in the debris as their own?

What a hypocritical slap in the face. My home was not shattered. My house was not lost. It was standing with four walls and a roof, completely in tact 1400 miles away in Florida. My children’s beds would not be found in the trees. Our pictures are safely tucked away in boxes and photo albums. Without telling them when, they knew the moment I arrived that I would be leaving again… back to my life. Back to my home.

And they never will. They will pick through the piles and dust off what they can find, clinging to whatever trinkets of their lives they uncover. They will meet with insurance agents and fill out papers and deposit claim checks. Some will rebuild and some will move on. But all of it will take months, years maybe. And it will never be the same.

And yet in some way, I envied them.

That itty bitty town swelled with love and courage and compassion. They were in this together. Those who weren’t hit by the storm emptied out their souls to help their neighbors and friends. They planted flags amidst the destruction and scrawled “A-P Will Stand Strong” in spray paint against whatever walls they could find standing.

They’ve lost everything - and yet they know where they belong. They know who they are. Mixed among my own self absorbed guilt was tremendous pride. Through their fear, through their devastation, through their incomprehensible loss - they held each other together the best anyone could hope for.

You simply cannot deny or minimize the painful truth that our parents and friends are homeless. Their heartbreak is palpable in the air as you walk down what used to be streets and neighborhoods.

But so too is their spirit. Palpable, I mean. It is as much a living, breathing essence as the tornado itself was. It is impossible to stand in the path of destruction and not be overwhelmed by the fact that so, so many of them are alive. People would meet you in the street and habitually ask “how are you?” and the answer was just too damn big to verbalize.

You are broken. You are scared. You are heart sick. And you are grateful. You are clinging to your loved ones with a sense of joy that you could not have ever possibly understood before. You are crying and you are talking and you are laughing, because God damn it - you can.

And you are home.

Without walls, without rooftops, without furniture or clothing - you are home. Surrounded by those who you have now imagined life without - you are home.

Adam here.

Britt’s leaving this morning with Jared and the kids to drive straight back to Florida. When she gets back, she’ll still be coordinating ways to contribute, but she’ll be able to collect her thoughts a bit more and figure out the best avenue, so thanks for being patient with that. There’s no doubt that the people of Parkersburg still desperately need help.

Thanks to everyone who has been so supportive so far - you guys have been awesome.

I’m writing this at 9:35pm CST on Wednesday night. Day 3.

I had to check the calendar to tell you what day it was.

Time stands still here. And at the same time, is flying by - with little to no progress to mark it with.

I’m drained. Emotionally and physically.

I’m defeated. I came here to help. To fix. To prop up and support.

And the rubble is unmoved. The piles just as high and unorganized as they were Sunday night. The donations are coming in - clothes, toothpaste, toilet paper. But we have no place to put them. The back of a van is stuffed with blankets and hand me downs as we try to ignore that we don’t pick up pots and pans because… well… why?

I can’t find them a place to live. Every call I make is a dead end.

I know you want to help. Oh, how I know.

I just have no idea how. Not yet. Will you still want to help in a week? If we’ve found a home to fill? Will you still be interested in the stories and the pictures when my brain is sorted out enough to tell them?

I’m lost. I’m so terribly fucking lost.

And tired. Bone. Tired.

Adam here again.

I haven’t talked to Britt tonight, but I spoke to her a few times during the day and she’s helping her in-laws and friends gather whatever belongings they can find. Sometime soon she’ll be figuring out what supplies will be helpful and I’ll post that info here. For now, though, if you do want to help the people of Parkersburg generally, you can do so here:

Red Cross Hawkeye Chapter

Salvation Army

If you have items or services to donate that might help, you can call the Iowa Concern Hotline at 1-800-447-1985.

Britt also said that it seems like adult clothes of all sizes and genders would be very helpful - the local stores have nothing left. If anyone has any ideas of a good way to collect donated clothing to get to Parkersburg, please leave a comment.

Adam here.

For those of you who don’t follow Britt on Twitter, she and Jared and the kids left this morning to drive the 24-hour drive up to Parkersburg, Iowa, so that they can provide help and moral support to his family and their friends who have lost their homes.

I’ve been talking to her off and and on (mainly on from about 11 tonight for the last couple of hours while she drove and everyone slept), and so I have a very retarded stream of consciousness from her Brittness to relay to you:

• By this point, they’ve been through 5 states
• Anybody who doesn’t answer their phone when she calls or doesn’t call when they have her cell phone number is a fucker (west coast people are especially fuckers)
• Most of their drive has been in the middle of nowhere
• Britt didn’t wear makeup and didn’t pack any. I think it’s because she wants to blend in with the survivors. Now she’s regretting it, because she’s sure that makeup will be hard to find in the stores near Parkersburg as everybody buys all the supplies they can.
• Ideally, they’ll be hitting Parkersburg around 8:30 AM CST.
• Our cell conversation has dropped numerous times, and Britt’s response is “More bars in more fucking places my fucking ass!”
• At one point, her iPhone froze and she was freaking the fuck out.
• Speed limits are retarded.
• She encourages everybody to carpe diem. I told her to carpe my penis.

Once she gets there, she might be able to post, but if not, I’ll put up a post for her, and once she knows how people can contribute supplies or something, she’ll let us know.

She’s also occasionally checking email and is sorry that she hasn’t been able to reply to any of the comments and she really appreciates all of the outpouring of support and offers of assistance from everyone.

If you follow me on Twitter, you already know.

Yesterday what is being estimated as an F-4 Tornado hit Parkersburg, Iowa. Our hometown.

Our town. The place where we grew up. The community where we know the neighbors and the businesses and the streets.

Or at least, we did. From what I’ve heard, even natives don’t know the streets now.

The school is gone, the middle ripped out leaving only a shell to stand as Command Center. The Kwik Star is gone. The restaurant is gone.

And the homes… gone. Jared’s mom and dad’s house. His brother and sister-in-law’s house. Gone. Literally. A pile of rubble standing where a home was yesterday morning.

The pictures. The china. The dining room table that was her grandmother’s.

Gone.

My family is safe. One of my best friend’s babies was taken to the ER last night, and that’s all that I know. The last count I heard was 5 dead, 15 injured.

Dead. Injured. Gone.

I can’t even tell you what an eerie feeling it is to hear about your Home being ripped apart, destroyed, from 1400 miles away. To frantically try to get someone on the phone. To watch your husband hold back tears as he listens to his mom cry “it’s gone. It’s all gone. Everything is gone.” To scour the web for reports, hoping for a picture or video or sound. Something to tie you to it. Something to connect you to the people who are hurting.

Your people. Lost. Torn. Broken. Clinging to one another in relief as they find people alive.

I know I should be grateful because my family is safe. I can still say I have pictures of my babies. My life is safe. Untouched.

And I am overwhelmed with guilt.

It is not enough for me to be safe. My community is hurting, it’s heart has been ripped out. I shouldn’t be OK. I shouldn’t be 1400 miles away. I shouldn’t only know of this devastation through reporters and grainy footage.

I need to know. I need to see. I need to hold them in my arms. I need to plow through the wreckage beside them.

Those are my people. That is my town.

Even from 1400 miles away.

This is a post meant for the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN). You can visit the GBBMC page for all the information you need about RAINN and the campaign. More links available at the end of the post. Please donate!

I have put off participating in this Grassroots Blogger Campaign, despite my promises to Kapgar.

Because I knew it would mean writing this post.

Officially, the “rules” for this campaign only dictate that you write about sex. That’s not so hard. Hell, I’ve done that over and over again here (which I’m assuming is why IT Departments across the world hate me), but they’ve always been couched in self deprecating humor. I could have done that again, and slapped a label on the post that it was to “bring awareness to The Rape Abused and Incest National Network”.

But it would have been a lie, and an insult to what this movement is about.

How could I, in good conscience, pretend to support a cause for survivors of sexual violence if I refused to tell my own story?

I couldn’t, so I didn’t… and then Karl told his.

I think it might be time now, after all these years, for me to tell mine. At least, the parts I can stand to tell.

(I’m putting this behind the fold because it’s long. And I can’t quite stomach the idea of it being on the front page.)

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