Miss. couples in crossfire of ruling on gay marriage

Dustin Barnes | The (Jackson, Miss.) Clarion-Ledger

Show Caption Hide Caption Leslie Criss and Cheryl Sproles It took Leslie Criss and Cheryl Sproles years into their adult lives to come out to their families, but the love and acceptance they've received made it worth it.

Mississippi approved a state constitutional amendment banning gay marriage in 2004

Supreme Court is expected to rule on two cases any day now

Gay couples have various experiences in the state

JACKSON, Miss. -- Mississippi stands to be caught in the crossfire of what could be one of the most high-profile cases since Brown v. Board of Education, the landmark 1954 Supreme Court ruling that ended segregation. The issue: gay marriage. Any day now the U.S. Supreme Court will issue rulings on two cases, one determining states' rights to define marriage and the other questioning the role of the federal government in recognizing same-sex unions.

And while Mississippians answered the question of gay marriage in 2004 by overwhelmingly approving a state constitutional amendment banning the practice, the aftershock of the Supreme Court rulings on California's Proposition 8 and the federal Defense of Marriage Act could weaken or obliterate the state's stance on the issue.

Or the nation's high court could reaffirm what Mississippi and 30 other states already have done in passing the bans.

Which way the typically 5-4 split court is leaning is anybody's guess.

Three Mississippi couples explain their experiences.

Leslie & Cheryl: A life of laughter, love

The story of Leslie Criss and Cheryl Sproles began decades ago when a neighborly gesture formed a friendship that would last forever.

They didn't know the chance encounter would end with a happily ever after. But then again, who sees Cupid's arrow before it hits?

A few decades ago Criss was home for the summer from college visiting her family in Brookhaven, Miss. The Criss clan had just moved to the area, and there was concern that Criss' younger sister, Beth, wouldn't know anyone at school.

Family friends hatched a plan. Sproles would go meet Beth and befriend her, ensuring she didn't start the new academic year at the local school without any friends.

"She knocks on the door and my sister and I – both shy girls – answer the door where she says, 'Hi I'm Cheryl Sproles. I'm the most popular girl in town, and I'm here to be your friend,' " said Criss.

There were no fireworks, no pledges of undying love, no Pavarotti playing in the background. The shy girl and the popular girl became friends and nothing more.

As the years passed, the friendship remained intact. Criss spent time in Los Angeles, a move she said she felt she needed to get out of her system. Sproles moved to New York City to pursue acting. Life happened and the two went right along with it.

Eventually, both of their paths led them back to Mississippi.

When she was 39, Criss said she admitted something to herself that she spent a lifetime denying.

"I knew when I was a third-grader, a shy, scared third-grader, I knew that something was different about me," Criss said. "But I knew instinctively that whatever made me know I was different was something that I should shove deep inside and never talk about."

A conversation with an Episcopalian minister in Corinth, Miss., was her next step, she said. "It was the most freeing, empowering moment of my life."

Meanwhile, Sproles had her own personal journey to find herself.

"With me, I didn't have any idea," she said. "I guess some people know it in the third grade. I was living in New York. I knew it was a lifestyle or something, (but) being raised in the Baptist Church, it was not a possibility.

"When I moved to New York and was introduced to different faiths and different people, it was just kind of eye-opening," Sproles said. "I don't want to make it sound like New York made me realize I was gay, but I had an intern and she said she had a crush on me and I had all these feelings happen."

Nearly six years ago, Criss was at her job with the Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal in Tupelo, a job she still holds.

Sproles had suffered a stroke a year before that, eventually selling her business in Jackson and starting her recovery. One day, while driving through Tupelo, Sproles said she looked up her old friend.

"I asked her out to lunch," Sproles said. "And we've been together pretty much ever since."

Sproles moved to Tupelo. About a year later, the couple held a commitment ceremony.

It was an experience Criss thought she'd never have.

But there they were, surrounded by family in a small ceremony that announced their intentions to live life to the fullest with each other.

"I have never laughed as much as I have the last six years," Criss said. "We've had some sad times, too."

"Yeah, we have," Sproles said.

Nowadays, the self-diagnosed shy Criss has an infectious grin on her face. The woman who had been content sitting in the audience stood on a theater stage during a recent production of "To Kill A Mockingbird," an idea encouraged by her theatrical partner.

And Sproles, a woman who has a million faces and hilarious quips, pauses from time to time to stare lovingly at the woman who anchors her life while keeping her free spirit intact.

It's the work of each woman, wives in everything but name only.

Amelie & Sabrina: A proud family

North Mississippi can be described as one of the most conservative areas in one of the most conservative states. But for Amelie Hahn and Sabrina Mays, it's home.

It's where the two met three years ago while working for the U.S. Census Bureau's big count. Mississippi — Houston, specifically — is where the couple held a commitment ceremony.

"She walked in and she wouldn't give me the time of day," said Hahn of the couple's first encounter. "I tried to talk to her, and she wouldn't speak to me, pay me any attention at all."

At their first meeting, Hahn made paper footballs, flipping them in Mays' direction. It was a schoolyard attempt to get a crush to look up.

Instead, Mays kept on texting, focusing her attention on her phone she was holding underneath the table.

Hahn, however, wasn't going to give up.

She looked around and found a softball league, choosing to get involved. Of course, it didn't hurt that Mays was a player.

And sometime between whizzing paper footballs past Mays' head to throwing softballs around together, Hahn got the attention she wanted.

She also got a partner.

Mississippi is where the two hard-working moms raise their daughters, Haley, 14, and Jessa, 13.

And it's also a place where the family sometimes feels the sting of disapproval.

"I don't like the dirty looks, I don't like that when we walk by people talk about me," Hahn said.

"Most of my friends are pretty cool about it," Jessa said. "I've never had anyone not be my friend because of it."

There are a couple of friends whose parents don't allow their children to visit the Hahn-Mays house. "But that's their problem," Jessa said.

Even with some of the stares, the family is determined to stay put. At least in some part of Mississippi.

"We're comfortable here," said Hahn, adding she and her family want to move to Jackson, a place she describes as being more open than Houston and closer to the hospital where they take Haley, a special needs child.

In the meantime, the family will continue to make an example of themselves, a testament to their normalcy.

"What we're going to have to do is make our presence known and get people to see us as human beings because that's what we are, you know, we're a family just like any other family," Hahn said. "We get up in the morning, we eat breakfast, the kids go to school, she goes to work, I start my school work."

And Hahn said her family is the reason she will stay and take a stand.

"If we leave, then that's one less couple to stand up and speak out."

Eddie & Justin: A living example

Justin McPherson and Eddie Outlaw For Jackson, Miss., couple Justin McPherson and Eddie Outlaw, owning a business together and living in the south has made them stronger throughout the years.

Growing up gay in the South isn't easy for many members of the LGBT community, but the times, they are changing.

Eddie Outlaw and Justin McPherson have carved out their own little piece of Jackson, the city where they have lived the last nine years. It's where their home is, their friends are and their business operates.

McPherson said the evidence can be seen by younger Mississippians able to come out in high school, to openly discuss their sexuality with their parents.

"I will put my life out there as an example of what this looks like," said McPherson, 32. "It does get better."

When he was coming out as a teenager, "it was real bad then, and it's done nothing but improve and will continue to improve."

"I guess for a teenager looking at what's happening right now -- from (President Barack Obama) to most of the Democrats in the Senate saying they are for marriage equality and overturning (the Defense of Marriage Act), it sends a message," said Outlaw, 41.

McPherson said he wants to show that by owning a business while being openly gay, that there is life after coming out.

"I know what it's like growing up in the South. Eddie knows what its like to grow up in the South," he said. "I want to be an example for them, for their parents."

"Instead of a paso doble," said Outlaw, referring to a traditional Spanish dance, "we've settled into a slow, steady waltz. We found something that works for us."