When it Comes to Politics, Think Like a Dad
My dad never fully left the 1960s — his formative years. “Come listen to this song,” he’ll say, and I’ll know he’s about to play me something from his favorite era. Recently, he called me in to listen to an instrumental version of “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles, arguably the most memorable track by the quietest member. “It’s such a good song that it works without the vocals,” he said, letting the music flood the room.
“Think for Yourself” has been the Harrison-led Beatles song stuck in my head lately. It’s what my dad did when he went to the Republican caucus to cast his vote for Bill Weld, who won about 1% of the votes in Iowa, and only one vote in my dad’s precinct.
He’s a staunch supporter of logic and reasonableness, which is what used to attract him to the party. Don’t spend too much money, and don’t over-regulate things, including people’s personal lives. Let people be.
Reasonableness is quieter, subtler, not as catchy. Not that he’s always quiet — he’s had some legendary “dad rants.” He got on a real thing about how much the grocery store was charging for asiago cheese. When he found it for less at a competing store, he returned the cheese to the first store. “They don’t usually let people do that, but I showed them the ad and they took it back,” he said. Reasonableness.
He has some views about climate change that make my Democratic heart cringe, but he’s dutifully recycled for as long as I can remember. Recycling, after all, is logical. And, I might say, a little hippy-like. Help your brothers and your sisters, help the ocean. He can often be found in the kitchen, rinsing out jars of food he used to make homemade salsa or a marinade for grilling.
He’s so logical that it can be borderline kooky sometimes. It’s cold in Iowa, so if you want to grill, all you need to do is throw on an enormous parka and head out to the deck, maybe after shoveling a little. He grew up in far Northwestern Iowa — Steve King country, who’s another politician, like Trump, my dad doesn’t associate with. “I remember when they had to blow up the snow,” he said, “It was the only way to clear the highway.” He doesn’t get riled up by a snowstorm unless you need dynamite to get rid of it.
He’s a fan of doing something about it. When the repairman claimed his ice maker — which crapped out three times in as many months — could no longer be fixed, he craned his almost 70-year-old neck under the fridge and replaced a wire, then waited for the sweet sound of “clank, clank” as the cubes fell into the basket. “It’s such a beautiful sound,” he said.
There’s a giant chasm between being reasonable and being passive. He’ll risk his neck when things are off-kilter. Of course, without thinking about it, he accidentally wore a brand-new bright red sweatshirt to the caucus, which blended in perfectly. “I didn’t realize it until later,” he said about his outfit that would have matched perfectly if someone handed him a MAGA hat.
For the last year, I’ve listened to people I respect (and people I don’t) wonder if a woman can get elected, wonder if a gay man can get elected, wonder if the gay man is gay enough. Don’t stick your neck out, just follow the voice of whoever is loudest, whomever other people will vote for.
“Everyone turned around to look,” my dad said, describing speaking up to vote against Trump from the back of a red-filled room.
“Who’s running?” the organizer asked. Another member of the crowd sitting closer to the front explained that Bill Weld is the former governor of Massachusetts. Iowans can’t help but be helpful.
“Good for you,” whispered a woman seated next to my dad. “Does anyone else think Trump is just a little embarrassing?” she said even more quietly.
“Is anyone else running?” the organizer asked, still confused.
“Joe Walsh,” the crowd responded in unison, referring to the Republican who’s since dropped out.
“I almost voted for Joe Walsh…” my dad told me later with a smirk. “He is a great guitar player.”
