The Creswells:

John and Stacy Creswell met in California in the late 1990s. They were both analytical and business minded—she was in graduate school and he had launched a career that would eventually lead him to a money management firm in Chicago.

Stacy's roommate introduced them, the man in the suit and tie and the woman in overalls and red Converse sneakers. Beneath different exteriors were two like-minded people; both were athletic and fascinated by processes and figuring out how things work.

They were friends for about six months, dated a year and were married 11 months later.

Their wedding was in the church John went to as a child. They didn't have much money—their floral display consisted of about half a dozen poinsettias that wilted slightly before the ceremony. The florist was kind enough to swoop in and give them an additional arrangement free of charge.

Rather than focus on finery, they put their energy into the meaning of the ceremony, the emotional and spiritual connection they shared and the excitement they felt to display their love before friends and family.

In the months leading up to the wedding, Stacy lived with John's parents.

After the wedding, she walked into the home she and John would share and found that his family had already moved in all her belongings.

"I got married and all of a sudden I go to the new house and all my clothes were in the closet," Stacy said. "It was such a wonderful way to start our lives together."

Stacy became a successful software engineer, and the couple wound up moving to Chicago in 2001. Four years ago they had their first child, followed by two more. Stacy decided to focus on the family.

Through their church, the couple have worked extensively with families in Chicago's housing projects, making close friends and witnessing an array of what they call "non-traditional families."

They've seen firsthand how the legal definition of a family can work against people bound by love and support but not necessarily blood or formal documents

 Still, John and Stacy look analytically at the issue of redefining marriage, respecting the long-standing tradition and worrying what might happen if the institution is changed.

"To change the rules begets the next question, which is 'Why stop there?' " John said. "The law doesn't allow blood relatives to marry, requires consent, says you must be over the age of 18 and can't be married to someone else.

"It seems inconceivable to me that you'd say, 'OK, let's redefine marriage, let's go further with this experiment,' and then the next day there wouldn't be a polygamist at the door saying, 'What about me?' "

Stacy feels the debate about changing the meaning of marriage draws focus away from the need for broader family-friendly laws that could benefit everyone, gay and straight alike.

"We should all respect each other for who we are and worry less about labels," she said. "Whether we're married or single or life partners or whatever.

"We're all people, and we're all unique. And we should put our focus on that."

The Neubeckers:
 

David and Lee met at a Chicago nightclub in 1999. Neither was looking for love, but it found them. They dated for about a year and then moved in together.

"When you look at our courtship, it was really pretty traditional," David said.

Lee proposed to David at an Italian restaurant. He was nervous, holding the ring in one hand under the table and his menu in the other. The menu drifted too close to the candle and caught fire. Shortly after dousing it, Lee popped the question.

In 2004, Lee called David out of the blue: "Hey, you want to go out and get married?" San Francisco had just begun marrying same-sex couples. Lee already had the tickets. On the day they flew out, Feb. 19, 2004, Mayor Richard Daley was quoted in the papers expressing his support for gay marriage. Lee and David took it as a good omen.

Outside City Hall in San Francisco, the couple waited in line for hours and wound up being the last pair married that day. They stood in the rotunda and called their parents on their cell phones to listen in.

"We were just overcome," David said. "Growing up, you feel like a second-class citizen. To get to a point where you feel totally accepted by everyone, from the old ladies on the street to the government, it was just amazing."

The newlyweds returned to Illinois, where the marriage would not be recognized. And by August 2004, the California Supreme Court voided the Neubeckers' marriage, along with nearly 4,000 others.

"There was some sadness because, for that short moment, we felt what most of society has felt most of their lives," Lee said. "Like we were equal."

The couple moved on, holding separate insurance policies and filling out "single" on almost any kind of official paperwork. "We emotionally consider ourselves married, but we're reminded at every turn that we're not," David said.

In August 2007, the Neubeckers adopted a brother and sister, now 5 and 6, respectively. They settled into the familiar pattern of family life: school, play dates, birthday parties. "Our lives are no different than any other," said David. "Unquestionably, we're their parents.."

But marriage provides a level of legal protection that a gay couple simply can't get, particularly when children are involved.

"For me, I care most that we have the same legal rights," Lee said. "We are citizens. And at this point I'd be happy to just be given equal rights."

Both David and Lee have parents who've had long and loving marriages. So while they might settle for the rights, the term "marriage" itself will always carry heavy meaning.

"Love makes a family," David said. "But our children, they deserve to say that their parents are married."

By Rex W. Huppke | Tribune reporter

rhuppke@tribune.com