The pendulum swings...
An open letter to my Republican friends, relatives and co-workers:
Once upon a time, there was an upcoming presidential election. I was excited, because I really disliked the current president. I found him irritating, insufferable and incompetent. I vehemently disagreed with him on pretty much every issue. I couldn't bear the thought of another four years of his smirking face on T.V.
So I went downtown to my party's headquarters and volunteered, making phone calls for the campaign. I was giddy with enthusiasm over my candidate. I thought he looked presidential, and dominated much of the debates. I felt the country was heading in a horrible direction and I desperately pinned my hopes on my candidate, praying that when he was in office he could halt the damage caused by the current president. I felt as strongly about the situation as I'd ever felt about anything. I felt the future of the country, and my family's well-being, hinged on my candidate wining the presidency.
I watched on the edge of my seat as the results rolled in on that frosty November evening, and one by one the map lit up in blocks of red and blue. I held onto hope as long as I could, but in the end the numbers were clear: my candidate had lost, and the president would serve a second term.
I was devastated, angry, disillusioned, and afraid. How could this happen? How could so many of my fellow Americans disagree with my deeply-held beliefs? How could they not see what I saw? How could they want the country to continue on this path? How could they support a man who made my skin crawl? I felt sick. I absolutely hated it.
Four years passed. Life went on. The president's second term concluded. Someone else moved into the Oval Office. America still stood--battered, but resilient. It is a great country.
It was 2004, and George W. Bush defeated John Kerry to win a second term as President of the United States.
I lived. You will, too.
Once upon a time, there was an upcoming presidential election. I was excited, because I really disliked the current president. I found him irritating, insufferable and incompetent. I vehemently disagreed with him on pretty much every issue. I couldn't bear the thought of another four years of his smirking face on T.V.
So I went downtown to my party's headquarters and volunteered, making phone calls for the campaign. I was giddy with enthusiasm over my candidate. I thought he looked presidential, and dominated much of the debates. I felt the country was heading in a horrible direction and I desperately pinned my hopes on my candidate, praying that when he was in office he could halt the damage caused by the current president. I felt as strongly about the situation as I'd ever felt about anything. I felt the future of the country, and my family's well-being, hinged on my candidate wining the presidency.
I watched on the edge of my seat as the results rolled in on that frosty November evening, and one by one the map lit up in blocks of red and blue. I held onto hope as long as I could, but in the end the numbers were clear: my candidate had lost, and the president would serve a second term.
I was devastated, angry, disillusioned, and afraid. How could this happen? How could so many of my fellow Americans disagree with my deeply-held beliefs? How could they not see what I saw? How could they want the country to continue on this path? How could they support a man who made my skin crawl? I felt sick. I absolutely hated it.
Four years passed. Life went on. The president's second term concluded. Someone else moved into the Oval Office. America still stood--battered, but resilient. It is a great country.
It was 2004, and George W. Bush defeated John Kerry to win a second term as President of the United States.
I lived. You will, too.