The Lesbian Coworker

When I was about fourteen, my mother and I were both evangelicals (and had pretty much identical beliefs, because we talked endlessly about Christianity, hypocrisy, etc). She got a new job, right around the time that Massachusetts was in the headlines for issuing marriage licenses to gay couples. You can probably predict how we felt about that.
One of my mother's new coworkers was a lesbian. "She has a 'wife,'" my mother told me, saying "wife" in a slightly different way than the other words.
This coworker, whom I will call Connie, had a hard time of it, because most of the people in that office, including the boss and the boss's boss, were evangelical Christians. I remember being surprised to learn that fact, at the time, since this was an office of the local Native American tribe. Even then, it struck me as strange that those with heavily Native American bloodlines apparently did not embrace the spiritual traditions of their culture. But I had been taught that Christianity was always a good thing, so I didn't think much about that.
From what I heard, Connie's lesbianism came up relatively often. My mom told the story of the office receptionist (a Christian, of course) remarking in one such conversation, "Yeah, I like you, Connie, and you're the first one of those I've met."
"'One of those'?" I repeated, astonished. Even then, I knew that that was most definitely the wrong way to put it.
"Yeah, 'one of those'!" my mom laughed. Though remembering the story now, it makes me cringe, as it probably now would for my mom. Ugh.
My mom brought black licorice candy to work one day, offering it to her coworkers. All of them declined it, hated it, declaring their love for "red licorice." (One of my biggest pet peeves, as "red licorice" does not occur in nature--come on, people, we don't have to say "white vanilla" or talk about "brown vanilla" when we really mean chocolate; say strawberry, for goodness' sake, that's what you really like!).
"Is that black licorice?" Connie asked, walking by. "Can I have some? I love black licorice!" she explained, taking some.
"You like black licorice?" my mom asked. "Connie, you're my kind of woman!" she declared, throwing an arm around her and squeezing.
Another time, my mother and I were going somewhere, and I asked her why I had to move the passenger seat up in her car.
"Connie was sitting there, today. She's really tall. We were carpooling, since we both come from the same direction for work," she answered.
My mom recounted how Connie told her of their boss saying, "I don't approve of your lifestyle," and then, upon learning that Connie's wife was trying to get pregnant, "'she said she would pray for me, and I found that highly offensive!'"
"Yeah, I can see why it would be offensive," my mom had replied. "I hope you and Catherine do get pregnant."
I was a little surprised that my mom had said these things.
"I do hope they get pregnant," she explained, "because they have something missing in their lives, and they think a baby would help, but then when they get a baby, they'll still have something missing, you know what I mean?"
I knew what she meant. It amazes me, now, to think that we actually thought this way. We thought it would be best for her if she was dissatisfied in life.
A few months later, Connie was fired. Her position was supposedly cut.
"I hope she consults a lawyer," my mom said. "If she thinks it was because she was a lesbian, she could get compensated for that."
I thought it was because of that, and I still do. I didn't think it was fair, though I must admit that because I believed she was sinning, at the time, that I don't now think I had enough empathy.
We live in one of the relatively few states (Oregon) where employers are not allowed to discriminate based on sexual orientation. But how do you prove that it was because of that? The only practical effect of the law is that employers have to find an acceptable excuse, and can't mention sexual orientation.
And what to do when it's another government--a Native American tribe--and essentially another country? Is the fact that they receive federal funding sufficient grounds to make them not discriminate? Or are they truly sovereign? I have so many questions, but I'm afraid to bother the Lambda Legal people about something that happened ten years ago and doesn't affect me personally.
Connie didn't pursue legal action, as far as I know.
A lot has changed in ten years, with my mom and me, too. I am glad that we're both out of that desperate, evangelical Christian funk. My mom says she wished that she had saved her money and not sent me to Christian school in the early years. She has even said that if she could sue them and get her money back, she would do it!
Even though I knew that that school was full of unhappy hypocrites, the effects of five years at that "normal," mainstream, Protestant Christian school made me miserable for years afterward. I know I would have loved to embrace LGBTQ rights, if I wasn't so worried about getting close to God and not going to hell for agreeing with "sin." I was uneasy about a lot of things, in those days.
A lot has changed in ten years, with a small majority (about two-thirds) of Americans now being for marriage equality (from what I've read), so I know that my mother and I were not the only ones who have changed. I can only hope that this trend continues, because other than what's right, I know firsthand the fear that people who are against marriage equality (and other LGBTQ rights) feel--fear that God will be angry and forsake or punish America, fear that everything will change and they won't know how to react to it, fear that they will end up agreeing with LGBTQ people and then go to hell for it, etc.
I wish I could lighten people's burdens on this subject (for so many reasons!), but when people are fearing for their souls, they are not going to listen to even fellow believers, at least not at first. (I have to fight them any way I can, though, when I encounter them, because I don't want them to hurt other people.) For some people, the only thing that works, if anything actually will work, is time.
Or, well, um...death. Which I suppose is a side effect of time...