Buddy Lemontree's Story

I have been a groomsman five times. I have been a bridesman three times. I have been a witness for a wedding on the beaches of Hawaii. I have driven to be in a wedding on the lake shores of New York. I have flown to Texas for a military wedding of the southern variety. I have walked down the aisle wearing a tux. I have walked down the aisle holding a bouquet. I have bundled up for a winter wedding and sweat my butt off for a summer wedding. I was in the wedding party for a wedding at the Center of Science and Industry. I have worn penis necklaces and stuffed dollar bills into men's g-strings at bachelorette parties. I have smoked cigars and watched women spin topless around a pole at bachelor parties. I have bought everything from wine glasses to sexy lingerie. I have a shoe box in my closet bursting at the lid full of wedding invites and wedding gift thank you notes. Some fading with years in existence and others fresh and vibrant, optimistic and ready to proclaim married life. I think it's fair to say I could register to be a professional wedding attendee without so much as a batted lash and I'm only in my mid-twenties.
     And yet, there is a sad truth to the twist of phrase, "Always a groomsman, never a groom," that rings a little too clearly every time I take a seat to see two more friends take the vow to always be with each other. To always support each other. To put no one else before soon to be betrothed. While eyes tear up in joy to see two people I care about take that leap, a few of those tears are of frustration.   
     Tilly and I met, I believe, at a college activity fair. I was the fresh faced, fresh off the bus freshman and she was the over eager sorority girl who was trying to get everyone to sign up for her group. Being an eager young pup, I was willing to sign up and be one of the victims. Flash forward a few months and we were best buddies, sharing mozzarella sticks in the cafeteria and staying up late putting off studying in exchange for another episode of Conan O'Brien. Bu far from Will and Grace were we. One night at a college block party, as we were bumping and grinding to the latest Pussy Cat Dolls single, I let slip, "God . . . if only you were a guy, we'd be perfect for each other." In a sitcom, this is where you'd insert the sound of a record skip and a slow motion pan to her face as her jaw slowly lowered. Apparently, our hours of listening to Ms. Spears and gossiping like the cast of The View hadn't tipped her off. You see, Tilly was one of those rare breeds of people who had never actually met a gay person. That one guy from that one season of The Real World was the closet thing she had gotten to those of us of the rainbow persuasion.
     And here's where every gay's fear kicks in--the, "I don't agree with your lifestyle," discussion. She said she love me. Supported me. Would go to gay bars with me. But she just couldn't accept in her fait that it was ok. It was a bit like throwing the brakes on your mountain bike halfway down the hill. I felt like I'd been tossed off a smooth ride in a matter of seconds. We fought. We argued. We both brought points to the table. We cried. We hugged. But in the end, we agreed that it would not be something we could change each other's minds about. As the years passed, and Tilly met the boy who broke my heart or the date whose pants ripped when we sat down for dinner, she began to soften. She began to realize that in a world that likes to categorize, sometimes you just can't. Gays couldn't be just put in the shoe box marked, "Fags," and buried from sight. 
     I think the first time I met Will was when I bought him a shot of tequila at my alma mater's young alumni night. Tilly had brought her new man of the hour to the bar that night. He was everything I was not: Barrel chested, truck driving, and NASCAR cheering. If you sang, "One of these things is not like the other . . ." a child would likely point at us. Trying to be welcoming, I went to the first unifier of straight and gay men: booze. I grabbed Will's arm, lead him through the mudge and grudge of the local dive bar on alumni night and flashed Jack, the always stoned bartender, two fingers and he returned shortly with tequila, no training wheels. Manly, yet fun. Will smiled, clanked shot glasses, and tossed it back. The rest of the night is a blur of stale popcorn, fake glee at seeing people you could care/remember nothing about. I'm sure I said nothing charming or endearing to Will, but we shook hands a the end of the night, said we should do this again sometime, yet thinking this would probably be a one time encounter as Tilly would be on to some new guy the following week.
     Push forward about two years and part of that prediction was correct. I didn't see him after that night for a long time. He and Tilly continued to date, but careers and locations had put our paths in different worlds. I saw Tilly every few moths for our group gatherings, but the, "no significant others," clause kept Will and I at bay. So when Tilly announced her engagement and subsequent night on the town to celebrate, I was caught off guard. She had said yes to Will and they were going to take the plunge. So, as obligated when your closest circle of friends has never really met the man you'll wed, we made plans for a group outing. His audition if you will. I would be remiss if I said I wasn't half expecting him to drive a pickup truck with and, "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve," decal when I remembered he was from her home town. 
     But like her judgment of me when I first came out, I was completely wrong for judging him. He was warm, welcoming, and made us feel like we mattered. After several rounds of shots and a cab ride call, we said good night and parted ways. As I snuggled into bed with a gallon of Gatorade at my side, I felt the bed rustle a bit. I looked at my phone and saw Tilly's name as an incoming call. Figuring she was calling for the post meet up low down, I quickly answered and began to gush over how great Will was and how happy I was for her. That's when I heard Will laugh on the other end of the line. 
     Thanks man," he said chuckling. "Glad to hear I got a passing grade. I know you mean the world to Tilly, so that means a lot to me."
     Blushing, I stammered out, "Oh . . . hey . . . no problem. I meant every word."
     "So . . . umm . . . I was wondering . . . we . . . were wondering . . . would you be in our wedding? I mean stand with us. Support us? I want you to be one of my groomsmen."
     Here was a guy who I assumed wanted nothing to do with me. Nothing in common, really. And he was asking me to be a part of his big day and to stand on his side of the aisle because he knew this wasn't a gay issue or a straight issue, but a matter of love. My heart warmed a bit. If you asked me on that cold fall day at the block party if I'd be standing up for the wedding of a strong Christian woman and her small town, honky husband, I would have be my Golden Girls DVDs against it. But there I was standing, 6 months later, as a witness to their marriage. As they said their vows, I meant it when I said I would do everything in my power to support them as a couple. Because I believed in them and I believed in the power of change. I couldn't have been more proud to say that maybe even in some small way I had changed them and they had changed me. 
     I was one of the first ones they told they were expecting a year later. I was one of the first to hold their son when he was born. And it makes me smile to think that he would be raised in a house where Uncle Buddy was more than just that gay guy who everyone whispered about snarkily. He will be raised with love and support that knows no preference. Recently, the three of us found ourselves at a wedding for another friend. As the music began to hit the speakers, Tilly stepped out to call the babysitter and Will grabbed my hand and took me for a dance. Sure. Grandma Ethel probably frowned a bit, but to us it was just two guys, one gay and one straight, having a good laugh. Tilly came back and joined us and as the glasses of champagne bubbled and the band played on, I couldn't help but smile and think that someday we would dance like that at my wedding. Someday.

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