It's a beautiful story:

When I told my friend Alex that I was cooking a dinner for my parents and Craig's parents at the end of last week, Alex (who knew me in college) said to me: "Did you ever think, 10 years ago, that this would ever happen? That you'd cook a dinner one day for your parents and your boyfriend and his parents?" The answer to that question was most definitely: "No."


By my junior year of college, I'd made several gay friends. And it was at that point that I'd gotten tired of fielding questions from my family about why I didn't have a girlfriend and if I knew any nice Jewish girls and if any of them were marryable. Around this time of year (it was near Halloween), I came out to my closest college friends (I was so nervous, I couldn't say the word; I told my friend Travis I was a "h...h...hemophiliac!"). And then I told my parents. Let's just say it didn't go very well. There were intense, emotional phone calls, awkward trips home, visits to a terrible therapist who tried to turn me straight, an explosive night at the dinner table where my grandmother said: "Why can't you just marry your friend Lisa?" To which I replied: "Because she doesn't have a penis!" It got ugly.

But then it got better. That's why Alex's comment was so on-the-nose; because things seemed so harrowing back then, I couldn't imagine that we'd ever turn a corner. But we did.

It happened when I met Craig.