Bert and Ernie

Bert and Ernie visited Burt's parents in Punxatauney every year, every summer in July. Bert's mother Betty and his father Bernie owned a home on the lake which they visited in their golden years from April through October. Their big house lay in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, an old-money enclave where lily-white, Protestant Republicans belonged and had lived their whole lives, nestled deeply into the woods, far from the invasive crowds of the city's encumbrance. The annual retreat to Punxatauney took on an anticipatory air every spring, just after Ground Hog's Day, as Betty and Bernie would start counting the days before their anticipated departure, which always took place ten weeks -- not six -- after the ground hog saw his shadow.

For the first time during a visit, Bert and Ernie walked down Main Street holding hands. They'd been a couple for years and years, as long as Bert could remember. How many years had it been since they'd met at the bath house in Pittsburgh? Twenty-five, twenty-six? It hardly mattered. From the moment they had met, they had become inseparable. It had taken a lot for Betty and Bernie to accept Ernie, but they had finally -- and not because of the "gay thing," as Betty put it. Because of Ernie Silverberg's religion. And because of his politics. Betty and Bernie felt a palpable sense of discomfort when Bernie visited, not because he was gay. After all, their son was gay. But because Ernie was a Jewish Democrat. Betty couldn't decide which was worse: being Jewish or being a Democrat.

Bravely soldiering on, Bert and Ernie decided the time had come for them to walk down Main Street holding hands. Mrs. White looked out of her card store, eyebrows raised alarmingly at the sight of Betty Worthington's 52-year old son holding a man's hand. And a Jewish man, at that, with small eyes and a glasses! Mr. Oldham did a double-take from the barber shop's chair next door, muttering under his breath "Some people run mighty high these days," shaking his head in shame, "must be a terrible tragedy for Betty and Bernie." Mrs. Collingwood crossed the street to the other side with the advancing pace of the gay couple, replete in jeans, plaid flannel shirts, and full beards, her head held high but her lips pursued in aching disapproval.

And then Bert and Ernie, hand in hand, came to the corner of Main Street and West Highland. Betty came running out of the hair salon, curlers in her hair, saying, "Why in the name of God are you doing this to me?"

Bert leaned over to Ernie and gave him a big smooch on the lips. "I wanted all of your friends to see how happy I am with Ernie Silverberg, Jewish Democrat from Pittsburgh!" And then he leaned down and buried his heads in Ernie's pants while all her mother's best friends encircled them, chanting, "Your son is gay and his love's a Jewish Democrat! Your son is gay and his lover's a Jewish Democrat! Your son is gay and his lover's a Jewish Democrat!"

And with this, Bert woke up and laughed minutes on end, unable to stop. "Why are you laughing, Bert," said Ernie from the depths of his pillow. "Go back to sleep!"