In May of 1977, I kneeled with my fiancee at the front of a church in my wife's home town. One of the two pastors was her aged grandfather. In the church were parents, grandparents, and pretty much everyone in the world I knew personally.

In front of God and all those people I promised to commit to someone no matter what. No matter what.

Since then there have been good times, bad times, two children, many different jobs, and all the things life brings everybody.

Some time later, my wife developed multiple sclerosis, and difficulty accomplishing even simple tasks without exhaustion. She still manages, but is often depressed at how things turned out, and worried about what she's putting me through.

So on our twenty-fifth anniversary, I took her to our current church, and again in front of God, friends, and relatives, married her. I made sure my words "in sickness, and in health" could be heard in the back pews. I still love her more than ever. Caring for her is not a chore. It is a privilege.

Had the positions been reversed, she would have done the same for me.

My children can see what commitment is. In me and my wife, for starters. In my parents, still married after 54 years, and my grandparents, who were married all their lives.

Marriage is not about living together, and deciding to call it quits when it stops being convenient or fun, when things get rough, or when something on the other side of the fence looks greener. The country is full of children being raised by people who don't seem to have a clue what commitment is. In Hollywood, long-committed couples (and there are some famous ones) are completely outnumbered by the musical chairs relationships of most modern couples. Examples for us all.

So that's what. And our country is going to be a lot poorer for it when marriage becomes a quaint custom.

Gay people can, and do, have this level of commitment. In a film called "Silverlake Life," a gay man is seen caring for his partner of over 20 years, dying from the ravages of AIDS. The stricken man looks like something found in a death camp. On film, his partner feeds him baby food, spoon by spoon. One can only imagine the other things he has to do to care for the sick man. The film ends with the bereaved man gathering his partner's ashes into a container. He, too, has AIDS, back when it was a certain death sentence, and his days are numbered.

As Tevye said, "If that's not love, what is?"

Marriage for gays? I have no problem with it at all.