I Believe Again

I have spent the past three Saturdays working at
the Farmer's Market on the Capitol Square in
downtown Madison WI.  I'm not selling fruits
and vegetables; I am selling an idea. I am standing
behind a card table covered with bumper stickers,
campaign buttons, and information sheets about a
candidate I really believe in.  There is a donation
jar there also, as everything that  is on that table
was bought and paid for by the people behind the
table. No national campaign money here.

Next to the table is a life-size cardboard cutout
of the candidate, suitable for posing with, and
a number of people do. Not twenty-feet to our
right is a table filled the same way as our table
and a cutout of another candidate.  And across
the square are more of the same.  Surprisingly
they people manning these tables are in their
mid-twenties.  I am the grandma of the bunch.
I stand out in the blazing sun with my sign held
high for hours on end, and call out to anyone
who will listen, I answer questions until I am
near hoarse.

Now, I have been doing this for nigh on forty
years or more.  I am, admittedly, a political
animal, it is hereditary.  My dad worked for
years for the 'Machine' in Chicago, he was also
a union steward and was always the first man on
the picket line.  He made me promise that I would stay
out of the fray, and with fingers crossed, I agreed.
But I am my daddy's daughter, I remember going
with him to wait out the results of an election at
campaign headquarters.  When I was younger, I
didn't always understand the machinations, but
I could sense the euphoria of the crowd as the numbers
were posted on the large blackboard, it seemed
our side always won.

How can you not become addicted to the excitement,
the crowds, the confetti, and the balloons?  As I grew
older, I got a glimpse behind the façade, to the
everyday workings of a machine that made a great
city run.  It wasn't always pretty.  The machine was
relentless, it was constantly moving and evolving,
and if you didn't move with it you were crushed  under
its wheels.  It needed to be fed and its live force was
money, always money.  In time, I became disillusioned.

My dad's only sibling, his sister, was married to a staunch
Republican, a very influential Republican.  Uncle Ed was
not just my favorite uncle, he was my godfather.  He and
his wife never had children so he doted on his godchild.
He filled my head with the ideals of the Republican
Party, and back then there were many, and I agreed
with most of them.  To say the least, our holiday dinners
were tense, the head of the family, my grandfather, would
bellow when the discussions got out of control, and voices
were raised.  "No more", was the cry from the head of the
table.  And an uneasy truce would be called.  (I'll bet that
goes on yet today in many households.)

And so it was, I joined the Young Republicans, and I
worked for Barry Goldwater.  I worked my heart out
and then, like my dad said, my heart was broken.  The
Republican moved on without me.  Gone was the party
of small government, fiscal responsibility,  and personal
non-interference, suddenly the government was everywhere,
looking into your church and your bedroom.  And I found
myself voting for John Anderson.

I met and married a man who, like my father, had a job
that depended on the politics of the day.  The administration
at that time was Democratic hence so was he.  I loved him
and I loved my father, but that love stopped at the polling
place and my independence won out at the ballot box.

It's been a long and strange journey, but all along I have
followed not just my heart but also my head.  My dad
voted a straight ticket his whole life, he would never think
of leaving the party.  My uncle worked his whole life for
the Republicans, he never understood my defection. My
husband remained a Democratic till the day he died.  I
cannot and will not compromise my beliefs.

In 2016 I voted for the most qualified candidate to ever
run for president, I had met her and spoken with her on
several occasions and she never failed to amaze me with
her grasp of Washington and the world.  And once again
my heart was broken, I was sure this time a woman. a
strong and capable woman would break through.  But I
am still out there.  And the thing that gives me hope are
the young folks who are there with me, and the number
of young people who stop at the table and sign up to
receive more information and volunteer to work, and
take a button.  I tell them to wear it proudly.  I make
them promise that they will vote, that it is their future
on the line.  And those people who don't stop, they give
me a smile and a thumbs up, and I give them a smile
because I know what  am doing makes a difference,
not just in my life, but for the country I love.

It matters not who I am supporting, what matters is
that you go out and vote, because your vote does matter.
And, if like me, you believe in something and someone
who you feel will make a difference in the country, work
for them.  They need your help, no one gets elected without
help.  The Russians are working hard to get the candidate
of their choice elected, you can be sure of that.

Democracy is not a spectator sport!    I'm just sayin'.


the ballot