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Rowing and Writing

Christopher Koehler's blog about rowing and writing and who knows what else.


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  Posted by Christoarpher , 10 June 2019 · 170 views

Gather ’round, best beloved, and hear the tale of how your author met his husband.
This was back in the day, 1991, when Sacramento Pride-A Commercial Opportunity (all rights reserved, void where prohibited, product may settle during shipping, lather rinse repeat) was called the Lambda Freedom Fair, and had not yet been given over entirely to commercial activities. In other words, it was still a small, community-oriented event that require the purchase of a ticket to get into.
It should be noted that I’d seen He Who Must Not Be Contradicted for some time before we’d actually met face to face at various parties at Pepper Spray U, my alma mater. I assumed he was a particularly hairy freshman. I’d taken to crashing parties held by the bisexual, gay, and lesbian graduate student group (and this was the early 90s, so the group was considered progressive for mentioning bisexuals) because the undergrad group was hopelessly silly. I didn’t play spin the bottle in high school and didn’t intend to start in college. So when I saw He Who Must Not Be Contradicted at those same parties I didn’t think much of it. After all, I was an undergrad at those parties, why couldn’t he be?
This was toward the end of my junior year and I seriously question the advisability of a relationship, because I’d be leaving in a year for grad school, but daaaamn, Skippy, that boy was hot. Keep in mind that at this time, I didn’t even have so much as a name. So March, April, May, and early June passed with me seeing He Must Not Be Contradicted at parties but never getting up the nerve to talk to him. The tension was deliciously agonizing back then, but now it only sounds tiresome.
So one fine June morning I decided to go to the Lambda Freedom Fair with a friend. And who do we run into? Yes, that’s right, my future husband with a mutual friend. My friends and I all get to talking, and I realized that if I didn’t get this guy’s name I deserved to be pathetic and alone for the rest of my life. With a name I could at least start pumping people for information, amiright?
“They’re obviously not going to introduce us. Hi, my name’s Chris.”
“Yeah, they’re kind of rude. My name’s…”
The first and last time I was brave, which became an issue later, but we celebrate 28 years together in July, so it wasn’t that big an issue.

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