Tag Archives: presidents

 
Blog

Finding the passion


Yesterday as I turned in my library books, I asked the library tech whether or not she had voted in the Super Tuesday primaries. "Nah," she answered, "I never vote." Climbing onto my bandstand, I reminded her that every vote counts. "So, who did you vote for?" she replied. Caught off guard and momentarily silenced, another library tech joked, "Oh, Kathy, didn’t your mother tell you that there are three things that you don’t talk about: politics, religion, and money?" The three of us laughed and I quietly replied, "I voted for Barack Obama."

An ardent, early supporter of Dennis Kucinich, I had found myself in the last few weeks between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Looking over my New Jersey sample ballot with my teenager, he noticed that Dennis was still listed, "Hey Mom, you can still vote for Dennis if you want," he pointed out, triumphant that he had found a solution. "Yeah, I guess I could, Sam. Only Dennis has dropped out, so I would be wasting my vote." "Aw, go for Barack, Mom. He’s okay," Sam responds, shedding his support for Dennis like dead skin. I’m finding it a bit more difficult to switch my allegiance. I do all the "right" things, I review the contenders’ websites, continue to watch the debates, make comparisons, and yet, I just can’t find the passion.

As more and more celebrities, lawmakers, and just plain folks, join in song for one candidate or the other, I begin to wonder if something is wrong with me. After all I remember being fired up over Clinton (Bill, that is). I remember the overseas phone calls to my family pleading with them to at least listen to Bill. I remember watching the dates so that I could make sure that I received my absentee ballot, the peace of election night, feeling secure that a wise choice had been made. Through the years I always managed to feel passionate about a candidate that captured the primaries. Heck, I even convinced my mom, a staunch Republican, to drop Bush and join in the Kerry campaign. I do admit, however, that my passion for Kerry would be more accurately tallied as passion against Bush.

I study the websites again, jotting notes on who supports what and how that fits into my way of thinking. Time and time again, Obama narrowly beats out Clinton. I look at the videos from YouTube and hear voices in sync, shouting out the HOPE that Obama brings into their lives. I complain to my husband, "I just don’t get it. I like Obama, I believe in what he says, I believe that he is the better candidate. I trust him. His policies are ones that I support." So why do I feel like he is the man that everyone tells you is the one to marry, but you just can’t see it?

I stand in the voting booth, wavering over the two names. I press the space next to Obama’s name and continue to stand. There is no line behind me, so I feel no pressure to hit the "cast vote" button. I hear my husband joking with the voting official. After twenty years, he is the man I trust, the one person whose decisions I support, a man I believe in. The man I love. I don’t need passion to tell me which direction to choose. It is enough to simply believe.

Dear Reader, In The Fray is a nonprofit staffed by volunteers. If you liked this piece, could you please donate $10? If you want to help, you can also:
 
Blog

Mi casa, su casa, how about no casa?


This morning a small article tucked into the corner of The Christian Science Monitor caught my eye. Los Angeles, with 48,000 homeless people will allow overnight sidewalk sleeping as long as access to driveways and doorways is not inhibited.

Nestled underneath this grim fact is a picture of Senator Barack Obama grooving with the Frederick Douglass High School band during a Largo, Maryland campaign stop. Somehow I just can’t wrap my brain around the idea that here we are in 2007, another presidential race gearing up, and the fundamental problems of our country seem to remain the same.

Setting the paper aside, I have visions of people lying on the sidewalks of Los Angeles, head to foot, leaving gaps for the orderly exit of cars and people. Will they be allowed to use blankets? What about air matresses and pillows? Pedestrians of course will have to navigate a bit more carefully, stepping around people and belongings. From what I remember of Los Angeles, however, that shouldn’t be too much of an issue, since it seems that most everyone drives rather than walks.  I’m glad that the city of Los Angeles is letting homeless individuals sleep on the sidewalks. Everyone has to sleep after all.

I remember 20-odd years ago, I worked at a Santa Barbara hospital in the records department and routinely read the dictation notes forwarded by the hospital’s physicians. One day I came across an admittance note that listed the patient’s address as under the fig tree. Intrigued, I asked around, learning that there was one fig tree in particular under which many of the local homeless sought shelter. At that time, homeless individuals were not allowed to sleep overnight on the beaches and the fig tree had become a sort of place of refuge. While this was one of my first encounters with the idea of homelessness, it has not been my last.

Living in Las Vegas a few years ago, my son and I decided to visit the original Las Vegas settlement. As we rounded the corner to enter the homestead, my son stopped, pointed at the ground and said with trepidation, "Is he dead, mommy?" Thinking that he meant an animal, I looked around to see the creature he was referring to. Seeing nothing, I replied, "Is what dead?" Grabbing my arm, Adam gestured toward a large gray mass, "Him, mommy, that man." Looking in the direction of my arm, I saw a man, covered in gray. Gray clothes, gray hair, gray bags. Hearing our voices, the man stirred, allowing me to answer "No" as I quickly guided my son toward the homestead entrance.

Home, in early Las Vegas was not much. A wooden shelter to provide protection from the heat, it’s a journey back in time, that I have no desire to take. Yet for at least one man, it would be an offer of shade.

I remember earlier in this presidency a prideful boast that more Americans than ever were now homeowners. Well, not exactly owners, since most Americans purchase homes with the assistance of loans. On the opposite page, one reality of home ownership makes its mark, as the increase in U.S. home foreclosures reminds me that escalating home sale prices is why I still rent.

Recently my son and I toured an open house. The home is immaculate and comes with both a finished basement and an outdoor above-ground hot tub. The house was custom built in 1977 and has been well maintained by the original owners. Researching the area, I estimate that the owners paid about $70,000-$75,000 for the home originally. The most recent appraisal for tax purposes set the house at $259,000. A nice profit on a 30-year investment. So what are the owners asking for this home? $424,000. More than $150,000 over appraisal and close to $350,000 more than they paid for it. Now, I will say that this house has been on the market for at least six months and that particular weekend the owners lowered the price to $399,000. When I drove past the home the following weekend, I wasn’t surprised to see the "For Sale" sign still posted. The increase in home foreclosures has pretty much dried up the chance for a prospective buyer to acquire these super mortgages.

Reading the papers, my husband and I would always ask each other how people do it. How can someone afford a $300,000 home? Well now we know, some can’t.

While the city of Los Angeles offers up its sidewalks, I look around and wonder why there are no better deals.

Dear Reader, In The Fray is a nonprofit staffed by volunteers. If you liked this piece, could you please donate $10? If you want to help, you can also: