Over the weekend on a mid-morning drive, I got stuck at a red light at one of the busier intersections in my little California town. Standing on the corner, just outside my passenger side window was a guy of about 60 holding up a political sign. "Yes on 8," the sign read, "Protect religious freedom."
I decided this was as good a time as any for a little street-corner-stopped-at-the-red-light political discussion, so I rolled down my window and asked him:
"Hey, why you gotta hate on people?"
"I don’t hate anyone," he said, "This issue is about religious freedom."
"No," I said (truck idling as I waited for the light), "It’s about you imposing your religious beliefs on other people, regardless of what they believe. Where’s the freedom in that?"
"This bill would force all churches to accept same-sex marriage," he said. [Credit for nice use of the talking-points, but that's an untrue statement, by the way.]
"Well, why can't you just let people try to be happy?" I replied. "What difference does it really make to you? Why are you so threatened by it?" At that point I was drowned out by the folks in the car to my left, who had noticed our little debate and began chanting: "No on 8! No on 8!"
Suddenly, from the car behind me, a group of college girls, who must have noticed my bumpersticker, started chanting "O-ba-ma! O-ba-ma!"
Next thing you know horns are honking all around us and everyone's having a grand old time.
I leaned over and offered Mr. Yes on 8 one last word: "Hey, I just hope when you get to the afterlife God forgives you."
The light turned to green. A girl on a scooter in the bike lane turned and flashed me a smile and a peace sign.
And then I drove on.