People who know me will tell you I do not discuss politics. It's about as personal as where I live specifically or what I look like naked. But nonetheless, I took an unusual stance on my blog in endorsing a political measure that, to me, would be very scary if passed.

Over the past week, I've done a handful of stories on Proposition 8 that I found to be balanced, fair and objective. I did not let my view of Proposition 8 cloud my judgement as a writer for the station I work at.

And then, there was the candlelight vigil the day after Election Day. Earlier that day, I had to write about two men who were denied a marriage certificate in the middle of their ceremony. Later that day, I found myself surrounded by hundreds--and by some estimates, a handful of thousands--of people just like those two who now found themselves being second-class citizens.

I took my photos of the event, I wrote my article, and I went home. I laid in bed, and I started reflecting on what I had just been witness to. My generation's civil rights movement. Sure, I don't believe either side was right in this battle, and I feel compromises could be made without drastic action being taken on either side.

But the fact of the matter is this--those people I was with tonight had lost their battle on Proposition 8, but they weren't ready to lose the war when it came to their beliefs. They were pissed off. They were angry. They were upset. But they weren't destructive, they weren't looting stores or setting fire to cars.

Instead, they delivered their message that the war wasn't over yet and they did so peacefully. That's one of the most moving things I've ever been a witness to, and the entire aura of that evening is one I'll remember for a long time coming.