Yesterday, a group of queer BYU students ventured into the Honor Code Office to confirm whether the removal of homosexual behavior from the Honor Code meant they could date, hold hands, or kiss without fear of reprisal. They were told they could. Eager to spread the news, they posted jubilant selfies on social media, smiling alongside BYU employees and sharing a kiss under a statue of Brigham Young. A wave of emotion rushed through me as I recognized the freedom and relief in their eyes. That’s how I feel when I kiss my wife, I thought. That sense of rightness. And then came another wave of emotion, because while so many of my friends just found a path out of the closet, yesterday brought the news that my wife cannot use her name, or her pronouns, or wear the clothes she feels best in, without incurring “restrictions on her membership.” I spent the rest of the day in a daze, joy and sadness overwhelming my heart in equal measure, all the while unable to explain to anyone why I’d had a reaction to these photos at all. I knew they’d say, “Well, I don’t see why this affects you. You’ve always been allowed to kiss your husband.”
