The other week, around Wednesday or Thursday, a friend called me up to inquire about my plans for the weekend.

“I can’t do anything Saturday night,” I informed her. “I’m going to my first gay wedding.”

Telling her that I had another commitment would have been enough information, but I chose to tell her I was going to my first wedding between same sex partners because it felt like a big deal.

Not a total surprise (the couple had been together for almost 13 years), so many things about this pubic ceremony and party felt different to me.

It was a first time I got a wedding invitation by email. It was an interactive wedding invitation with artwork of a bird and a graphic of an RSVP envelope that had to be opened through a series of clicks.

The event was held in a large gymnasium at a senior center that was able to accommodate the crowd that included the couple’s large families, close friends, and co-workers. Over 200 guests, for sure. A conga band provided the after-dinner entertainment. (Yes, and guests actually danced.)

With beautiful silver tablecloths and lovely flower arrangements, which I found out later were done by the Blossom Boys, the site for many zumba classes was transformed. A floor to ceiling window on one side of the hardwood provided a beautiful view of an open field at sunset.

Yes indeedy. This was a different sort of wedding.

There was no organ music to mark the start of orchestrated activities. There wasn’t a center aisle and no angst involved in figuring out whether you belonged on the right or the left side. There was no giving away of a bride by a nervous father. There was no parade of besties and sisters of the groom wearing dresses they didn’t particularly like.

The Gymnasium was filled with beautifully appointed round tables. A long table near the bandstand was set up as a bar. The line of people waiting for refills of wine was never-ending. Strangers enjoyed exchanging banter with anyone they shared their wait with.

About 30 minutes after the time noted in the invitation, the two men we came to celebrate sat in two chairs in the center of the room while their guests had all taken their seats at assigned tables. The two grooms created their own set of rituals and vows for the occasion, lighting a candle together and delivering small white bouquets to the matriarchs of their respective families. The ceremony was informal but not taken lightly. In step with the spirit of inclusion, an elderly black woman presided over the ceremony.

Before the exchange of vows and the much-anticipated kiss, before my friends were pronounced “husband and husband,” four readers came forward to deliver specially selected words. A beautiful poem by Pablo Neruda was read, in English and Spanish. But the words that captured the special attention of everyone were from the Illinois Religious Freedom and Marriage Fairness Bill. Passages were read out loud.

Living in a state where two people, of any sex, can publically declare and celebrate their commitment to each other is no small thing.