September 19, 2008--The Ladies of Forest Trace & the Last Four Percent
My mother reported that the “girls” watched much of the Republican convention. Particularly on Wednesday night when Sarah Palin addressed the faithful.
For the women of Forest Trace, all at least in their 80s, to stay up so late for anything other than arthritic pain is out of the ordinary and in this case represents a commitment to electoral politics. By 10, 10:30 at night most have been asleep for two hours. But they didn’t want to miss this. After all, when her name first surfaced as McCain’s choice for running mate most, who had been ardent Hillary supporters and were disgruntled, thought having a woman on his ticket might be persuasive enough to get them to vote Republican.
This made my 100 year-old mother cringe. These ladies had been lifelong Democrats from at least FDR’s time and some were old enough to have helped organize the ILGWU. A few went back far enough that they remembered the time when women weren’t allowed to vote. So for them to even consider voting for a Republican made my politically savvy mother worry that women like this might tip Florida again into the red state column.
Over breakfast and dinner this past week, my mother did what she could to bring the girls back to their traditional political home.
When word circulated that Governor Palin, in spite of the way she is representing herself, had in fact been in favor of the notorious Bridge to Nowhere, the ladies responded that what can you expect, she’s a politician who wants to bring money and jobs to her state. When reports filtered down to the Lower 48 that Palin, when mayor of Wasilla, had tried to intimidate the town’s librarian into removing certain “offensive” books from the library, the girls, though they had lived through the Nazi era and had seen books considered to be subversive burned by storm troopers, in spite of that still vivid memory, they said that young people today have to be protected from violence and smut.
Nor were they persuaded to return to their democratic roots when my mother pointed out that though she inherited a budget surplus when she became mayor Palin left to become governor she left Wasilla $20 million in debt. “Who in government,” they said, “doesn’t spend money. She seems so sweet and nice so she must have spent it for a good cause.” My mother said, she overspent when she built a hockey rink for children. They said, “Well of course, she’s a Hockey Mom.” They laughed at that, thinking she must be a wonderful mother. When my mother responded in growing frustration that what does being a mother have to do with preparing someone to be president, they shrugged her off with, “And you think it’s easy to raise five children? You only had two, so what do you know.” Things were clearly getting testy at Forest Trace.
But my mother is if nothing persistent. She moved on to a new tack when it became clear that Palin was a last minute choice. McCain had wanted to choose Joe Lieberman—a big favorite among the Forest Trace demographic—and when ultra-conservatives warned McCain that they wouldn’t vote for someone who supports abortions, the self-described maverick caved into them and named Palin.
The ladies also had an answer for this, saying that McCain was only pandering to conservative Republicans and when—my mother shuddered at the “when”—he becomes president he’ll revert to his old moderate self and will not appoint more Anton Scalias to the Supreme Court.
So my mother played the health card among her fellow Forest Trace residents who know from their own chronic ailments what cruel things age can do to a person. She asked them how they felt about having a 72 year-old president in the White House who has had recurrent melanoma. They all know, don’t they, how dangerous this condition is and how likely it is that it will show up again if (she couldn’t bring herself to say “when”) he is elected? And in that circumstance, she asked them what they thought, in these perilous times, about having someone as unprepared as Sarah Palin becoming president? There was no response to that. They know from cancer.
And finally, my mother added, seeking to seal her case by taking a new tack, what does it say about John McCain that he didn’t know all these things about her when he selected her? What kind of a president will he make (she should have said, “might he make”—but I forgive her she was on a rhetorical roll) if neither he nor his people did a proper job of vetting her? “All they needed to do . . .” she was about to add when 94 year-old Gussie interrupted her.
“Are you also using that new word?”
Thrown off balance, my mother looked quizzically back at her.
“’Vetting.’ I mean ‘vetting.’ That one.”
“It’s not a new word. They use it all the time.”
“I also never heard it before. ‘Vetting’—it sounds,” she winked, “Yiddish to me.” That was my mother’s friend Esther.
“I can’t believe you girls. It has a very distinguished etymology.” Thus challenged my mother reverted to the voice and diction she used when she was an elementary school teacher back in Brooklyn. “It has a Latin root. From the same source as for ‘veto.’ From vetare. I looked it up recently. In the original, of course, it means ‘I forbid,’ which is exactly what John McCain should have done when Governor Palin’s name came up—after having her properly vetted he should have vetoed her selection.” At that, sensing she had finally trumped them, she smiled at the girls, who were by then avoiding eye contact.
After a moment Bertha looked up and said, “Come now, Ray, where’s your sense of humor? You know us better than that. How could you think we would vote for someone like McCain, much less a Sarah Palin? We just like to be fair and challenge all assumptions. And have a little fun!” My mother breathed a sigh of relief. “We also know about her. Didn’t she also sit in her church recently and listen to a sermon about the Jews for Jesus? You didn’t mention that. I survived the Holocaust and could never bring myself to vote for someone who would do that.” The other ladies were nodding in solemn agreement.
“And,” Esther chimed in, “can you imagine her and her family in the White House? They would have to count the silverware after a state dinner.”
My mother and the ladies looked back at her with collective raised eyebrows. “Now, now girls. You know me. Always making my little jokes. I’m sure they are very nice people. But not nice or qualified enough to be our vice president.”
About that they were now all in agreement and could get back to talking proudly about their grandchildren.
But then again, she wouldn't be my Jewish mother if she stopped worrying.
For the women of Forest Trace, all at least in their 80s, to stay up so late for anything other than arthritic pain is out of the ordinary and in this case represents a commitment to electoral politics. By 10, 10:30 at night most have been asleep for two hours. But they didn’t want to miss this. After all, when her name first surfaced as McCain’s choice for running mate most, who had been ardent Hillary supporters and were disgruntled, thought having a woman on his ticket might be persuasive enough to get them to vote Republican.
This made my 100 year-old mother cringe. These ladies had been lifelong Democrats from at least FDR’s time and some were old enough to have helped organize the ILGWU. A few went back far enough that they remembered the time when women weren’t allowed to vote. So for them to even consider voting for a Republican made my politically savvy mother worry that women like this might tip Florida again into the red state column.
Over breakfast and dinner this past week, my mother did what she could to bring the girls back to their traditional political home.
When word circulated that Governor Palin, in spite of the way she is representing herself, had in fact been in favor of the notorious Bridge to Nowhere, the ladies responded that what can you expect, she’s a politician who wants to bring money and jobs to her state. When reports filtered down to the Lower 48 that Palin, when mayor of Wasilla, had tried to intimidate the town’s librarian into removing certain “offensive” books from the library, the girls, though they had lived through the Nazi era and had seen books considered to be subversive burned by storm troopers, in spite of that still vivid memory, they said that young people today have to be protected from violence and smut.
Nor were they persuaded to return to their democratic roots when my mother pointed out that though she inherited a budget surplus when she became mayor Palin left to become governor she left Wasilla $20 million in debt. “Who in government,” they said, “doesn’t spend money. She seems so sweet and nice so she must have spent it for a good cause.” My mother said, she overspent when she built a hockey rink for children. They said, “Well of course, she’s a Hockey Mom.” They laughed at that, thinking she must be a wonderful mother. When my mother responded in growing frustration that what does being a mother have to do with preparing someone to be president, they shrugged her off with, “And you think it’s easy to raise five children? You only had two, so what do you know.” Things were clearly getting testy at Forest Trace.
But my mother is if nothing persistent. She moved on to a new tack when it became clear that Palin was a last minute choice. McCain had wanted to choose Joe Lieberman—a big favorite among the Forest Trace demographic—and when ultra-conservatives warned McCain that they wouldn’t vote for someone who supports abortions, the self-described maverick caved into them and named Palin.
The ladies also had an answer for this, saying that McCain was only pandering to conservative Republicans and when—my mother shuddered at the “when”—he becomes president he’ll revert to his old moderate self and will not appoint more Anton Scalias to the Supreme Court.
So my mother played the health card among her fellow Forest Trace residents who know from their own chronic ailments what cruel things age can do to a person. She asked them how they felt about having a 72 year-old president in the White House who has had recurrent melanoma. They all know, don’t they, how dangerous this condition is and how likely it is that it will show up again if (she couldn’t bring herself to say “when”) he is elected? And in that circumstance, she asked them what they thought, in these perilous times, about having someone as unprepared as Sarah Palin becoming president? There was no response to that. They know from cancer.
And finally, my mother added, seeking to seal her case by taking a new tack, what does it say about John McCain that he didn’t know all these things about her when he selected her? What kind of a president will he make (she should have said, “might he make”—but I forgive her she was on a rhetorical roll) if neither he nor his people did a proper job of vetting her? “All they needed to do . . .” she was about to add when 94 year-old Gussie interrupted her.
“Are you also using that new word?”
Thrown off balance, my mother looked quizzically back at her.
“’Vetting.’ I mean ‘vetting.’ That one.”
“It’s not a new word. They use it all the time.”
“I also never heard it before. ‘Vetting’—it sounds,” she winked, “Yiddish to me.” That was my mother’s friend Esther.
“I can’t believe you girls. It has a very distinguished etymology.” Thus challenged my mother reverted to the voice and diction she used when she was an elementary school teacher back in Brooklyn. “It has a Latin root. From the same source as for ‘veto.’ From vetare. I looked it up recently. In the original, of course, it means ‘I forbid,’ which is exactly what John McCain should have done when Governor Palin’s name came up—after having her properly vetted he should have vetoed her selection.” At that, sensing she had finally trumped them, she smiled at the girls, who were by then avoiding eye contact.
After a moment Bertha looked up and said, “Come now, Ray, where’s your sense of humor? You know us better than that. How could you think we would vote for someone like McCain, much less a Sarah Palin? We just like to be fair and challenge all assumptions. And have a little fun!” My mother breathed a sigh of relief. “We also know about her. Didn’t she also sit in her church recently and listen to a sermon about the Jews for Jesus? You didn’t mention that. I survived the Holocaust and could never bring myself to vote for someone who would do that.” The other ladies were nodding in solemn agreement.
“And,” Esther chimed in, “can you imagine her and her family in the White House? They would have to count the silverware after a state dinner.”
My mother and the ladies looked back at her with collective raised eyebrows. “Now, now girls. You know me. Always making my little jokes. I’m sure they are very nice people. But not nice or qualified enough to be our vice president.”
About that they were now all in agreement and could get back to talking proudly about their grandchildren.
But then again, she wouldn't be my Jewish mother if she stopped worrying.
posted by Steven Zwerling at
1:06 PM
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