Let me tell you about my husband. When Larry, a neighbor down the street I had seen but didn’t really know, fell in the yard, and I saw him struggling to get to his feet, I helped his wife get him up. I found out he was quite ill and she was unable to care for him. I, being the generous soul I am, volunteered my husband Michael to help if he should fall again. He fell, again and again and again. And Michael went and took him to the VA. And Michael changed his IV’s, because he had nursing training. And Michael went to help him with his meds a dozen times a day. And Michael helped with the funeral arrangements. And Michael, because he had paralegal as well as nursing experience, helped the widow with wending her way through the VA benefits program. And then he started helping the widow with her innumerable health problems.
And that was just the one neighbor. There is also the 100 year old woman next door whose husband shot himself 15 years ago as we sat in our living room. And he took care of the dogs and the yard and the medicines and the doctors’ visits.
And there is the dance teacher he worked with whose husband died. And she was destitute, and he takes every penny he had with him and gives it to her because she needed it. And then the farmer who was down on his luck, who couldn’t pay his bills, so Michael did. And his high school friend with bipolar problems that he would listen to in the morning until 3:00. And today a car drives by our busy street and Michael was in the yard. And the driver going by yells, “Faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot,” at the best man I have ever known in my life.
Who has empowered the people to abuse a saintly man because he is gay? That is rhetorical, by the way.