Bookends
I’ve written here previously about my mother, who was born at about the same time that women finally gained the right to vote. The youngest of three children, she never knew her father; shortly before she was born he decided he no longer had any interest in being husband or father, and he walked out the door one night and was never seen again. My grandmother was well-acquainted with the reasons for women to have the vote, and she raised her son and daughters to be civically aware. Through all of the struggles that attend single parenthood, her commitment to that community participation never wavered; and in every election season the children would help to shove the parlor furniture against the walls to make room for the voting apparatus that made their home the neighborhood polling place. They were taught, in every way possible, that the vote is a responsibility to be taken very seriously.
My earliest memories include those which have me reaching up to hold the hem of Mother’s skirt as she went door-to-door collecting for the March of Dimes, and then ringing those same doorbells while handing out campaign materials for Ike. It was common to see her spending afternoons and evenings at the kitchen table stuffing envelopes for candidates or causes. When my younger siblings were old enough to go to school, Mom was able to return to one of her favorite jobs, that of election judge. One of her closest friends was a state legislator who was committed to the promotion of the common good and whose memory is still honored at our state capitol.
Of my two parents, Dad was always the most vocal when it came to politics. But it was Mom who did the footwork, setting a positive example for us. And, yes, the family was Republican, a reality which some here have chosen to use to berate Mom. It was what it was. Dad passed about halfway into W’s first term, and that’s when Mom started to voice her own opinions. Still a Republican, she was not at all comfortable with how W became president. Her disquiet increased as that administration proceeded, and her frustration increased with the cataracts that took away, among other things, her ability to be an election judge. But she continued to pay attention, listening to the news and using a magnifying glass to read the newspaper. Her unhappiness with her party gnawed at her, but she maintained her membership in order to, as she put it, “maybe talk some sense into some of these people.” To our delighted astonishment, she voted for Obama. Twice. She told me before his re-election that she believed he would prove to be the best president of her lifetime. Wow.
With all that, she kept her party membership. An active affiliation of seventy years is not an easy one to break. But the aggravation became too much, and one day she asked to be driven to the county office where she withdrew from the GOP. “I don’t know these people any more,” she said, “and I don’t want to.” It still hurt, and she cried. But she continued to pay attention, and always looked forward to getting her ballot in the mail.
Shortly after her 97th birthday her health began to decline. Her awareness began to develop a life of its own, but she still managed to surprise us with moments of vivid clarity and discussion of current happenings. When the presidential ballot arrived in her mailbox, she insisted that her aide help her fill it out. She voted for Hillary Clinton. Her last important task accomplished, she slipped away a scant month after the election.
She never became a registered Democrat, but by her example three of her four children did. By her example, all of her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren learned that a life of service to others is the only kind of life that matters. And by her example, her family marvels at a lifetime so elegantly bookended.
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