From time to time, I have entertained the idea of running for office. My inner “critters” have held their own “roast” each time.
First, it was as a hippie radical in college thinking I could do a better job than our city councilors could. The echo was immediate and loud: “How many bras do you have? How many can you burn trying to get your point across? Haven’t you scorched your bangs enough with the ‘campaigning’ you have done?”
Truth. In addition, my sons were too small to handle the sort of pressure that comes with a parent in any sort of power. Cases in point, presidential progeny usually attend private schools. A pair of pants wedged up high isn’t allowed there.
My next idea came in my late 40s when I thought I would throw my barrette in the ring. I wear a hat so seldom I can’t remember where I put the one that hasn’t been chewed by anything.
Taking a deep breath, I went to a partisan meeting. The decision was swift and painless. No mere human could solve the problems being aired there. Times haven’t changed. It’s still humanly impossible to change for the better right away. One can’t kiss the bruised knee of society and make it well.
Idealists were still abundant and I was with them -- to a degree -- but I had learned there was no “quick fix” to anything that had become entrenched in my community. The railroad tracks still split the community and there was always a rogue raising heck about something.
After campaigning my heart out for a candidate I believed was great, but who lost the race, I hung my head over a bowl of menudo and came to the realization that Camelot had given rise to a group of folks seeking too much change, too quickly.
I was past 60 when the next urge hit and I would have faced a candidate with an impeccable being. My rationale was that people would be so busy digging up my checkered past that my opponent would have been a shoo-in.
That balloon was burst quickly by a fellow with knowledge and experience.
“You don’t really want the position, do you?”
Not really, but I wanted the other person to win easily.
“You are well known and pretty well respected. Has it ever dawned on you that you could emerge the winner?”
Oooo-oooh. Never thought about that.
I didn’t try and my esteemed opponent didn’t win the backing of her party.
Now, as a 70-something individual, the idea has popped up often. Yeah. Congress needs a crazy grandma.
There are already a bunch there, smart women, old biddies and a mix of the two.
Too much of one thing. I don’t know if any of them burned their bras, screamed along picket lines or participated in a sit-in. They sound feminist, they sound good.
Yup. But they’ve been in office for more than 30 years. They know how to bounce the ball high enough to grab most of the jacks.
A friend reminded me that I could be with them if I had ever taken the risk of running.
Poof, there goes another ego tree plant. This old ant just can’t.
I will support what I feel is right, stay off the ballot myself, tend my little cannabis plant and consider that my rebellion for the day.