My Family Story

Becky Thacker

Becky and Harriet

I'm Becky Thacker, and my wife is Harriet Clare. Congratulate us! We were married in the Province of Ontario on Tuesday, August 9th of this year. We plan to file for a name change and OFFICIALLY become the Thacker-Clare family.

We've been together for about fifteen years now. Harriet came to Indiana with her husband in the mid-60s, and I arrived twenty years later (1985). We joke about how many years it took us to find each other.

We have a large extended family, which includes three grandkids (Henry is 6, Tommy just turned 5, and Mia is a year old), Harriet's two kids, our siblings, and "the elders", Harriet's mom, my father and his siblings. My oldest uncle is 97; he and his partner live in Ontario and were witnesses at our wedding.

I would describe myself as being a person who wants to see humans progress in the good things they can do (art, humor, love!) and to advance beyond the great and small uglinesses (war, bigotry, sloppy thinking) that come so easily to us until we learn better. I'm a writer in my spare time, and try to use my abilities to further this goal in myself.

My personal GLBT related experience began when I was a small child, playing the 'pirate' and 'prince' roles to my girlfriends' 'princess' roles. I didn't actually 'come out' until I was 21, in 1969, the year of Stonewall and "the Summer of Love". That was when I found a gay bar and learned that I wasn't the only person like me; I found a home among people like myself. What joy!

Silly me; I thought that every gay person would automatically be a friend and ally of every other one. Well, those youthful illusions were quickly shattered, but I still believe that we need to live that way, burying our individual differences and bonding together with people of good will until the day comes when it's no longer necessary.

My religious views toward this are... I don't have religious views as such; I consider myself a free-thinker. There is something within living creatures (and non-living objects, for that matter!) that's often greater than we first observe. Everything is a mystery; there's no way we can understand anything completely. It seems reasonable, therefore, that no person should define the path for another. We can only assist when the helpless appear to need it, stand by our friends and loved ones, and do the best with what we have.

The initial reaction from my family when I shared with them that I am a GLBT person was "I'm not surprised". Then they assumed that it would never be mentioned again; as long as my wife and I keep quiet about it, they can pretend that we're just friends who live together. I've observed that there's a self-absorption in too many straight people, who, if they have glbt folk in their lives, assume that we're simply bystanders, supporters and onlookers to the 'real' folks. We're expected to do their hair, listen to their dramas, admire their children, but our own lives just go "poof" and disappear in the face of their realities. My own family is this way. Harriet's family is a marked contrast to this; her brother is a PFLAG member and the kids and grandkids know that our life together is as genuine as theirs.

Our friends, of course, are important members of our family. People who can't acknowlege the reality of our lives are not our friends, they're merely acquaintances, people to be pleasant to and then move on.

As time has passed, my relationships with my family of origin have become more distant; we exchange letters and visit now and then, but we really live in separate worlds. This can often be painful. In a frantic attempt to be loved and accepted by my family, I'd immerse my own reality. I've been bridesmaids at their weddings, when they didn't bother coming to mine. I've babysat their kids, but they don't remember the names of our grandkids. After short doses of this, I abandon the attempts and retreat, vowing that pigs will grow wings before I do THAT again. Until the next family event comes up, and back I go. Harriet patiently goes with me each time, telling me that she supports my choices whatever I decide.

My most affirming situation when I've told someone about myself or a GLBT person in my life has been when a stranger learns we are partners and says (like they really mean it!) "That's nice", or sometimes, "My daughter/son has a partner". We had some difficulties in getting our paperwork completed for the marriage license, and a wonderful clerk at Ft. Erie, Ontario, spent several hours assisting us, making long-distance phone calls, checking on the progress of things, and encouraging us. When the authorization finally came in, she ran around the end of the counter and hugged us both.

My most difficult experience under these circumstances has been when we told my 'family of origin' that we were going to Canada to get married, and not one of them even said "Congratulations!". They shifted in their chairs, looked away, and then asked, "You'll be visiting Gale while you're there, won't you?"

When I think of home and family, I think of Harriet and me, sitting on our back porch at dinner, watching the fireflies and hearing the robins and cardinals' "good night" songs. It feels so much like when I was a kid at my grandparents' house, so simple and safe. Every evening when we dine, we clink our glasses together and say half-jokingly, half-seriously, "Made it through another day; thank the goddesses!" Then we mention something that we are grateful for. It makes me sorry for families who don't even have dinner together, who are too busy to sit down at the table together, talk quietly, and savor the good things in their lives.

When I hear homophobic remarks, it makes me feel tired. In 1969 at the lunch table at my job I sat and listened to my co-workers discussing "queers", saying things like "They should be rounded up and put into camps". Lamely, I said "I don't think they're so bad". I needed the job, so I didn't come out to them. Now I speak out whenever I hear hate speech; for our children, we have to keep making the efforts, while knowing that some people won't change and take pride in being hateful. They're no different than the people on the Life magazine cover in the 60s, wearing white sheets and hoods. They won't go away, but it's everyone's responsibility to speak out against hate in all of its forms.

Life for us now is a continuing adventure; after being partners for so long, we're now practicing calling one another "wife" without giggling. I don't feel like a "wife", but Harriet looked it up: the dictionary defines "wife" as "the female partner in a marriage", so there we have it! The lawmakers of Indiana might hate us, and the people of this state might rush to the polls to pass laws against our loving one another, but laws or no laws, they can't really win by passing laws that promote bigotry; we love each other and always will.

I believe that GLBT people deserve equal civil rights because... It seems odd, in the year 2005, that there should be a question about any group of people "deserving" equal civil rights. When we studied the Constitution back in the 50s, we were taught that the great thing about America was that everyone was created equal. We watched this concept be re-explored in the 60s, and thought it was pretty well settled when folks of color claimed the rights they should have had all along, and then women did the same. Who has to go through this struggle next?