Do you remember your first political instruction?
I do. It came, initially, when my grandfather decided I was capable of grasping the magnitude of party preference. I think I was seven. I must have been seven, because that was 1991 and it was leading up to an election year. He said, you, you’re a BICD, and don’t you ever forget it. Well, walking around saying that meant very little to me way back then. Who cares what a seven year old thinks? But now, now it matters. ‘BICD’ is roughly translated as “Butte Irish Catholic Democrat” and in a town like Butte where the holy trinity of Ethnicity, Political Affiliation and Religion makes the man-- a place where a seven year old girl's party affiliation is just as important as a 70 year old man’s.
Well, today I am just as much the BICD I was when I lived in Butte only an older, more educated Seattleite (who just happens to be admittedly less catholic). Regardless, why is this important? Well, my grandfather is one of the most instrumental political figures in my life. A man whose lessons and wisdom stressed community centeredness, an obligation to serve, a duty to others, loyalty to the collective, and an unwavering awareness of the potential of a life incorporating these values. He also happens to be a staunch supporter (still) of John Kennedy. And last summer I had a conversation with him about politics and about what I perceived to be a tremendous change on the horizon. And, fittingly, he told me a story…
“In the 1960s, I was an unemployed WWII veteran with five children and a mortgage. I was in need of something that made my life make sense, something that could lift me from the uncertainty and pressure of my responsibilities, something that would ensure a promising future for my family and for my community. I was ready to vote for change”
Last Christmas I was having a conversation with him about Barack Obama and he sat across from me and said, “have you noticed I haven’t said anything to you, now it’s your generation’s turn, I’m old hat, but you all want change.”
I left the room and walked into the dining room and climbed a ladder that happened to be there from an earlier venture into the upper closet. Tucked away in the back corner was something i'd nver seen before. Inside, tucked away, was a voluminous stack of newspapers from the 1960s that chronicled the campaign, election, inauguration, and assassination of JFK. I didn't know what to think and then almost immediately something really powerful washed over me, in onlya a mere few seconds, for the first time in my life, I think I understood what a movement meant to a person, I understood what it was like for someone to be part of a movement for change.
I want that feeling. I want to feel like I am part of something that monumental. That a political figure’s ability to change the course of history, to move the world with words, to bring together a polarized society in equality and equitability is possible. That feeling is important to me. And that assertion is the most profoundly certain I have been in quite some time.
I want to one day tell my grandchild that something really mattered, that I, too, was part of a movement. Like my rather inspiring grandparents, who you see flanking President Kennedy in the photo above.
I do. It came, initially, when my grandfather decided I was capable of grasping the magnitude of party preference. I think I was seven. I must have been seven, because that was 1991 and it was leading up to an election year. He said, you, you’re a BICD, and don’t you ever forget it. Well, walking around saying that meant very little to me way back then. Who cares what a seven year old thinks? But now, now it matters. ‘BICD’ is roughly translated as “Butte Irish Catholic Democrat” and in a town like Butte where the holy trinity of Ethnicity, Political Affiliation and Religion makes the man-- a place where a seven year old girl's party affiliation is just as important as a 70 year old man’s.
Well, today I am just as much the BICD I was when I lived in Butte only an older, more educated Seattleite (who just happens to be admittedly less catholic). Regardless, why is this important? Well, my grandfather is one of the most instrumental political figures in my life. A man whose lessons and wisdom stressed community centeredness, an obligation to serve, a duty to others, loyalty to the collective, and an unwavering awareness of the potential of a life incorporating these values. He also happens to be a staunch supporter (still) of John Kennedy. And last summer I had a conversation with him about politics and about what I perceived to be a tremendous change on the horizon. And, fittingly, he told me a story…
“In the 1960s, I was an unemployed WWII veteran with five children and a mortgage. I was in need of something that made my life make sense, something that could lift me from the uncertainty and pressure of my responsibilities, something that would ensure a promising future for my family and for my community. I was ready to vote for change”
Last Christmas I was having a conversation with him about Barack Obama and he sat across from me and said, “have you noticed I haven’t said anything to you, now it’s your generation’s turn, I’m old hat, but you all want change.”
I left the room and walked into the dining room and climbed a ladder that happened to be there from an earlier venture into the upper closet. Tucked away in the back corner was something i'd nver seen before. Inside, tucked away, was a voluminous stack of newspapers from the 1960s that chronicled the campaign, election, inauguration, and assassination of JFK. I didn't know what to think and then almost immediately something really powerful washed over me, in onlya a mere few seconds, for the first time in my life, I think I understood what a movement meant to a person, I understood what it was like for someone to be part of a movement for change.
I want that feeling. I want to feel like I am part of something that monumental. That a political figure’s ability to change the course of history, to move the world with words, to bring together a polarized society in equality and equitability is possible. That feeling is important to me. And that assertion is the most profoundly certain I have been in quite some time.
I want to one day tell my grandchild that something really mattered, that I, too, was part of a movement. Like my rather inspiring grandparents, who you see flanking President Kennedy in the photo above.
1 comment:
Beautiful post Julia. So glad I read it on Super Tuesday!
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