Love Is Not Up for Debate

It was such a grandparent thing to do.

Last Saturday, Melanie Falls learned that her 4-year-old granddaughter was about to pick out — ta-da — her first pair of dance shoes.

Not without Grandma Melanie she wasn't.

It took little lobbying to recruit the other grandparent in the house, and off they went, driving 20 miles of slippery road so they could take the little girl and her even littler 2-year-old sister on an all-day outing.

Being grandparents, they couldn't settle for just shoes. They bought a special shoe carrier, too, and a ballet doll for the little sister. (Yes, yes, it's important that children learn it isn't always their turn. But that's what parents are for.)

Afterward, the grandparents took the wee ones to Applebee's restaurant. Lots of eats and five glasses of apple juice later, they took the girls back to their house and played with them for another hour. Driving home, they called to check in on the 9-month-old wonder they call "grandson."

I learned about this most regular of days after Melanie sent an e-mail in response to my recent column about the controversy swirling around Cleveland's domestic partner registry. She wanted me to know a little about her life with her longtime partner, Tina, whom the grandchildren call "Gigi." You know how it goes with grandparent names. They had this bright idea that Tina would be "Grandma T," but that's a hard letter for a tiny tongue to get to, so before they knew it, she was "Gigi."

Melanie and Tina raised two girls and two boys from Melanie's marriage to a man who was an alcoholic and who eventually died from cirrhosis of the liver. The children, now grown, are heterosexual and married.

Melanie heads an agency that helps abused and neglected children. Tina manages a dozen physical therapy centers.

"We contribute significant money to various causes," Melanie wrote. "We pay our taxes, cut our grass, talk to our neighbors and watch their houses when they are on vacation. We have taken care of our aging parents and I buried both of mine in '08.

We took in our children's friends when they had arguments with their parents. We talked with our daughters' friends when they were bewildered young girls who had just had an argument with their boyfriend.

"We were there when all of our grandchildren were born and felt the same way any heterosexual grandparents do when they hold their grandchildren for the first time."

"So what?" you might say. "All kinds of people raise children and try to make a difference in the world. What makes these women special?"

Nothing, if you put it like that. That's the point. Just like heterosexuals all across the country, Melanie and Tina have spent their lives doing the best they can. And they are loved by grown children who feel blessed to be on the receiving end of all their effort.

A number of readers who oppose the registry complained that they are tired of the debate. On that, they have more in common than they care to think with their gay brothers and sisters, many of whom also claimed weariness. Including Melanie.

"When I read the attacks, part of me feels sad and abandoned," she said in a phone interview. "But the truth-justice-and-the-American-way part of me feels angry. When they start selectively quoting the Bible to attack me, I want to say: 'I've probably counseled somebody you know. Maybe even somebody you love.'"

She never says that, though, no matter how many strangers attack people like her in letters to the editor or on talk shows or blogs. It's not her way to return attacks, says her daughter Erinne, the mother of those two little girls.

"My mother is the most compassionate person I know," she told me. "It's a testament to her love that all of her kids are really close to her. She was my best friend when I was 5, and she's my best friend now."

In a trembling voice, she added, "I want her to be my daughters' best friend, too."

Maybe that's why Melanie never bothers to attack.

In a heart like that, there's just no room for hate.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and the author of two books from Random House: "Life Happens" and "… and His Lovely Wife." To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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