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We are a house divided. And every four years, I wonder if we
can stand. Three weeks ago, a neighbor canvassing for Obama came to the door. I
let her in and filled out an application for an absentee ballot. “Does your
husband want to fill one out?" she asked.
Dave was sitting in the corner of the dining room, arms
folded across his chest.
I stepped in between them. I know it’s her sworn duty to
convert any stray Republican she finds, but it’s Dave’s house. I love him, no
matter what he thinks about taxes and I knew how well the conversation would
go, because I’ve tried it too.
“He’s a hopeless case,” I said. “I’ve given up and moved on
to her,” I pointed to Ellis sitting on the floor holding a spatula.
“I’m hoping she votes Democrat because she does have a
vagina.” The neighbor laughed and I ushered her out.
Two weeks later, the morning after the first presidential
debate I woke up, ran, showered and got Ellis out of her crib. She was wearing
a pink Romney/Ryan shirt.
“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?” I angrily asked Dave.
Dave giggled and sprinted toward the door. Like I said, some
days I don’t know how we stand.
Dave and I have always been opposing political forces. In high school, when I was threatening to join Green Peace and bomb oil companies,
Dave and his friends littered my front yard with conservative political signs.
When we got married and moved to Iowa, I registered Republican only so I could
caucus for Ron Paul, just to signal to the Republican Party I wasn’t happy.
Then, I voted for Obama. I don’t think they got the message. So, I switched my
Dave came out of the womb in an Eddie Bauer polo and ranting
about tax rates. He often says goodnight by telling me, “The President is
ruining the economy, I love you!”
I’m not much better. This morning, after we snipped at each
other over the debate, I sent Dave an email with the sign off, “Next
time, no more partisan rancor before 8:30 a.m. I love you.”
But we aren’t always like this. Our life is a day-to-day
push and pull of dishes, laundry, "where the hell is the pacifier?" and
discussions about why I don’t like Firefly as much as he thinks I should. We
agree on most things. We agree that we should volunteer in our communities and
give back any way that we can. We agree that we should save our money, buy
antiques, pay taxes, hate March Madness, raise our kid to say “yes ma’am,” and
eat all of her vegetables or die trying.
But we don’t agree on
who to vote for. And part of me worries that our daughter is going to grow up
in a rancorous household—used as a pawn in the machinations of her parent’s
political schemes. Is she going to resent us? Probably, let’s just hope it’s
not for politics.
Before she was born, Dave and I discussed some boundaries on
how to raise our daughter around election time. We will be respectful of each
other’s intelligence and not mock one another in front of her. We won’t use her
as a prop for campaigns. If we fight in front of her, we will apologize in
front of her. As we discussed those rules, it became apparent that we weren’t
just discussing rules for politics; we were discussing rules for life.
Once, after a heated argument about health care, Dave and I
had to revisit our rules.
“Let’s just say we’ll
be kind to one another,” Dave said.
“Right, and let our daughter make up her own mind.”
Dave raised his eyebrows. “That’s such a liberal thing to
I glared. Sometimes enforcing the rules feels a little bit
like being on a UN peacekeeping mission—all the moral authority with no power
whatsoever. But the important thing is that we keep trying. Seeing past our
policy and loving one another for the heart, the humor and the intelligence
behind each comment.
We won’t always do politics perfectly. But I hope that no matter
what, our daughter grows up knowing that the heart of a person is more
important than the circles they fill out on a ballot. And that having push and
pull, thesis and antithesis is what life is all about and the most important
thing is to learn to live in that space between.