I think my voting record has been stellar to date, even if I say so myself. I’ve checked boxes, pulled levers, and tapped screens for 60 years now. Sure, go ahead and do the math. I’m that old. And I’ve voted in every presidential election since I could. It was my right, my responsibility and my honor.
During most of those years, however, I think I could be accused of being a somewhat dispassionate voter. I didn’t research platforms, ideologies, strengths and weaknesses so much as I simply voted for who I thought might best lead us. Party affiliation never mattered.
There was one exception: Jack Kennedy. Like so much of the world, I simply fell sway to his charms, to Jackie’s style, to the world they’d let us peek into. I figured if they were in the White House, everything else would just fall nicely into place.
I don’t know whether others were as quasi-blasé as I was about voting. The only thing I know, for sure, is that this last election was anything but dispassionate. To put it into double, or triple, negatives: nobody doesn’t not care.
We listen to opposing views even as we struggle to comprehend them. Then we either swallow our words or harshly spit them out, both with negative consequences.
In 2016, when passions ran high, I wondered, in this little space, when/if we could reconcile our differences.
It’s four years later and I’ve got my answer. It’s just not the one I’d hoped for.