Politics

Politics

I remember sitting on the hard asphalt of the playground, in a cotton dress with little white socks and plastic shoes, brushing away those little pebbles that invariably ride on the top and talking about becoming a hippie. We sat there, giggling seven-year-old girls dreaming about the future during recess. Hippie merited an entry on the list of potential careers right along side waitress, lawyer, and nurse. The minute it was suggested, it was agreed upon; we all wanted to be a hippie. I don’t know why; maybe it was the way the word sounded kind of light-hearted and happy. I didn’t know anything about it, what a hippie did, but it didn’t sound like it could be a hard job. Maybe it was because one of the girls knew for a fact that her parents would hate it when she became one. Rebellion: the first faltering step towards independence.

I’ve been told, but don’t personally remember, that when Robert Kennedy was killed I boarded the schoolbus and yelled, “Another Kennedy was shot!” My mother tells me that story and always laughs. I always wonder what I was thinking. Was I considering a future as the “Town Cryer?” Was I warning the world that another endangered species has been poached; we have to be on guard? Or was I sounding a more personal cry: here we go again!

My mother fiercely believed in John Kennedy. I have vague recollections of her during that time waiting up the entire night to find out the outcome of things. What things I don’t know, but I assume the primary, the election, whether he was dead or alive, who shot him . . . . Somewhere around that time, my parents bought me a dog and I named it John. Surprised at such a human sounding name, I guess, they asked, “John what?” Suddenly the focus of too much attention, I shyly said, “Just John” and wandered away. My parents never mention that dog without referring to him by his “full” name and they always laugh.

Years later, my 6th grade teacher, a fierce Nixon supporter (I bet she lived to regret that,) polled her students. As everyone around me raised their hand that yes my mom and dad are voting for Nixon, I did too. When I got home and told my parents, my mom said, “Well I hope you raised your hand for McGovern.”

Oh yes, of course I did.

Now maybe I sound like a weak-willed, peer-pressured little shrinking violet, but keep in mind: first, I wasn’t sure which brouhaha was more frightening – the one if I admitted my mother didn’t support Nixon, or the one if I admitted I didn’t support my mother, and second, I didn’t care who won. I was 11. All I really knew about the president was that he was the guy that sometimes interrupted a show you really wanted to watch and talked about something boring. And since I didn’t say it then, I’ll say it now: what business does a teacher have, polling her Elementary School students?

I was raised on a woman’s right to choose, equal rights for everyone and the preservation of our parks and natural areas. My mother voted a straight Democratic ticket. I remember her complaining about Governor Ronald Reagan saying, “If you’ve seen one redwood tree, you’ve seen them all.” For years she would get on her soapbox about the Kennedy Assassination. She bought all the books; knew all of the theories. I remember seeing a bumper sticker once while in the car with my parents, “Investigate Jesus.” My conspiracy minded mother said, “Well now, that’s going a little far.”

“Mom, I think it just means to get some religion in your life.”

“Oh.”

Fast forward ten years or so. Suddenly my mother is voting for President Reagan and making jokes about how we should eat the spotted owl. No longer in her mind does a woman have a right to choose; abortion is murder. Now she votes a straight Republican ticket.

What? What happened?

The older I get the more I understand I don’t know the answers and the more I appreciate those few individuals who don’t represent themselves as “knowing.”

Recently my “day job” changed locations. We’re now next to the local food bank. Every day I watch people get free bread, free milk, free fruit – whatever’s available. Working next to the food bank shatters your preconceptions. I have seen every age and race get food there. Most drive a better car than I do, which is a source of endless speculation and personal self-examination. And everyday I watch at least one food bank client, usually more than one, dump the excess trash from their free food on the ground outside of our store.

“Be the change you want in the world.” Oprah Winfrey believes in it; so does Dr. Phil.

I live responsibly. I pay my bills, try to be respectful of others rights and viewpoints, and I don’t dump my trash in the street. But no matter how well I dot my i’s and cross my t’s, I do know that no amount of good behavior on my part will change the mindset of someone who receives free food, but thinks it’s ok to dump the packaging out in the street.

I’ve watched a former fellow employee, a third generation welfare recipient; rush headlong into single parenthood of multiple children. She tried to sue my boss for firing her unfairly when she was pregnant, when the truth was that after a task was explained to her five times, she still couldn’t complete it without someone having to fix her numerous mistakes. .

I’ve said, “Hey, howya doin?” to a former schoolmate in the Post Office only to find out that she is homeless.

I interviewed a homeless man for a class I was taking and found out that he was a disabled Vietnam Vet who refused to live at the local Veteran’s Home because they would take his disability check and give him what is left of his money as opposed to letting him be responsible for paying his bills. Over the years I witnessed his health decline and his subsequent disappearance from the streets.

I used to meet once a month with a group of fellow local artists. Every month they met on a Saturday. I would have preferred to sometimes meet in the evening or maybe on a Sunday. It seemed to me that only one individual was pushing for Saturdays; so at a meeting I introduced the notion of meeting at a variety of times. What a brouhaha! You’d think I’d suggested we increase the cost of dues to $100 a meeting.

Anytime you get two or more human beings together, there is going to be disagreement. It’s why we have divorces; a two party system; multiple tv channels and newspapers; prison; locks on our doors; alarms on our cars; and war. Add that together with the many points of view a human will invariably embrace over the course of his/her lifetime . . . . and I just don’t understand how anyone can claim to know - to know with the absolute certainty I think you should have before you begin telling other people what they should think - almost anything; let alone when life begins, whether or not capital punishment is cruel or what the government really intends when it does just about anything.

I look out the window and see so many things that make me concerned, worried or unhappy and then I go home and turn on the television.

Is it too late to sign up for that hippie job? I’m really ready for something light-hearted and happy.