ephemeral states | transient texts on temporary subjects

On election day 2004, I volunteered to hand out literature at my polling place for John Kerry. It was a first for me and I didn’t know how people would respond. I knew I’d encounter voters of other persuasions and political passions can run hot. For company, I brought along my then six year old daughter Emma. She wanted to help daddy and I did nothing to dissuade her. I confess that I partially welcomed her as cover in case I encountered an irate opponent. Who could be rude to man with his cheerful, friendly child at his side? The naiveté of that hope demonstrates my level of apprehension.

I needn’t have worried. Whatever their leanings, people accepted my fliers without incident. Emma enthusiastically joined in. Presented with courtesy—we offered, not imposed—people rarely respond out of kind. I also like to think that we increasingly rare voters try to stick together. It’s almost like being in a club.

My major concern was encountering some of my immediate neighbors. I was unaware what candidate most anyone else on my street supported. From the occasional campaign signs I’d seen on lawns, I could guess. Based solely on party affiliation, many seemed Republican. It was that way with the one neighbor I was certain of. One afternoon earlier that fall, I was outside our house when she pulled up alongside in her car. She said she was off to the Bush local campaign headquarters to pick up a lawn sign. Did I want one for our yard?

I thanked her and declined. My neighbor cheerfully accepted the answer and after some brief chat, drove off. Though I backed the other candidate, I was glad for the offer. It was simple courtesy, as if she asked if she could pick up a quart of milk.

Back then, I didn’t talk politics with my neighbors. The topic never came up, plus my New England reserve kicked in.

Overall, I don’t think policy really plays much of a role in voting. Identification with a candidate—she’s like me!—means more (an insight much in play, I know). Politicians I consider evident buffoons will be someone else’s statesman. Since we’re both looking at the same guy, perception accounts for much. I’d crossed party lines a number of times when voting.

Back at the polls, some neighborhood friends did arrive to vote. It was a couple with their Emma-age daughter in tow. When the girls saw each other, they launched into a happy dance at getting together unexpectedly. Then they raced off to a playground adjacent to the polling place (a small civic center). We adults exchanged pleasantries, without mentioning why we were there. Rather than spoil the impromptu play date, I kept an eye on the girls while my neighbors voted. When they emerged, the kids were still hard at play. Rather than disrupt them, and as my shift was near its end, I volunteered to keep watch then walk their daughter home.

The play structure soon lost its appeal and the girls soon ran back to me in search of new adventure. Emma enthused about handing out fliers. Her friend, predictably, asked if she could help. Reflexively, I went to give them both a small stack, then drew back. Would my neighbors want me to be employing their daughter this way? Even if we shared candidates—I didn’t know—it didn’t seem right.

I dithered for a few seconds then handed them both some fliers. They’re only kids, I rationalized. It’s no more than play. Fortunately, the girls just handed the fliers back and forth between themselves. When the friend’s mom drove up, I had reclaimed the fliers and my conscience was clear. I also thought that if political leanings were determined at this age, we’d see Hello Kitty in a landslide (she’s her own her party symbol!). It still doesn’t seem that bad a prospect.