love in an election year

Forty-four years ago, long before most of my fellow dating-bloggers were born, I was enjoying (most of the time) my first romance.

* * *
When PJ and I met, on December 14, 1963 (yes, yes, the date December 14th has ever since been important to me; I always remember what happened on that date, when the day comes along), we were seniors in high school. By the summer of ‘64, when we were both college-bound, the presidential election was in full swing.

I wonder if he remembers this episode as vividly as I do. Probably not, because most men don’t remember things like this:

It was late August, and my mother had rented a small house on Fire Island. I went there every weekend, and one weekend PJ was visiting also.

He was for Goldwater, and I was for Johnson.

We were walking on the beach one night, and we began arguing about our candidates. It was not the first time we had that argument, but it was the longest one and, I think, the last.

* * *

We spent the entire night walking on the beach arguing.

Dawn had broken by the time we returned to the cottage.

* * *
I can’t remember if my mother was aware that we had been out the entire night.

Most parents, aware of such a fact, would have assumed the two seventeen-year-olds (yes,we were young to be going off to college) had been having sex or at least doing something sexual.

But not us.

No, we were arguing Goldwater v. Johnson the entire time.

* * *
I wonder what we were saying. I wonder how embarrassed I’d be now to read a transcript of our debate. Or maybe I’d be surprised at how smart I was. I don’t remember being especially articulate about politics then, just ‘convinced.’ Goldwater was perceived by left-wing Democrats to be the most outrageous candidate, and he lost by quite a lot. I don’t think he was assumed to be personally vicious, just wrong-headed.

* * *
At any rate, I can still remember the very bright morning light as PJ and I entered the tiny living room of the house.

* * *

As I remember, we didn’t resolve a thing; we just decided to stop fighting.

And of course, neither of us could vote.

* * *
Okay, so fast-forward to February 5, 2008. It was ‘Super Tuesday,’ and that’s the day Plan C first wrote me, the day our romance began, as the ballots were coming in.

Plan C assumed I was for Hillary. I can’t find the message, but he said something to this effect, that he assumed a professional woman of my generation would support her.

I thought that (around that time) I made my position clear to him, that I was undecided between the two main Democrats and had not voted at all in the NY primary because (my feeling at the time) I didn’t want to hurt either of them. However flawed that reasoning may have been, that was my position.

* * *
Within a few weeks, we were arguing about the candidates (HRC & BO). I was still undecided, still feeling that both were about equally qualified, though qualified perhaps in different ways, and that I’d vote for whichever was nominated. But I hated hearing Hillary attacked. Much has been written by now on the anti-feminist, misogynistic attacks on HRC, and I’m hardly the first to mention them, but they affected me personally. Because (in a professional context) I’ve been attacked by men in similar language and with similar venom, I identified with her — when she was attacked.

So when Plan C got — as he has occasionally tended — in a ranting mode about her, I was irritated and offended. And my attacks on his attacks made him believe — even though I had been completely unambiguous about my then-divided sympathies — that I supported her. In that mood he is simply non-rational and can’t take in whatever is said, however calmly, slowly, and rationally I say it.

I was particularly angry because at the same time as he was denouncing Hillary, Plan C would praise McCain as a ‘patriot.’

This from a fellow Democrat!! What gives???

These attacks on HRC always took place late at night, and mostly over the telephone. The next day, or some later time, he would say he had been ‘a schmuck’ or ‘an asshole’ and even ‘a misogynist’ (which I do not believe he is) and that if he started doing that again, I should tell him he was being an asshole.

He gets in that mode every now and then, and it’s not always about HRC. I recognize it now, and I know it goes away.

* * *
For instance, yesterday morning he was watching Tim Russert interview Obama on Meet the Press, and he began to get infuriated that Russert spent fifteen minutes at least rehashing the Reverent Wright stuff.

* * *
Before I was aware of what was happening, Plan C had picked up his Treo and was dialing Information.

Washington, DC I heard him say, and then, NBC.

And then (speaking, I inferred, into an NBC answering machine) I heard him denouncing NBC for allowing Russert to go on and on about Rev. Wright when they were so many more substantive issues — the economy, the war, etc. etc. — that should have been discussed. I heard the phrase ‘poor journalism’ and I think I heard the word ‘asshole,’ though I’m not sure.

* * *
Plan C was in full ranting mode, and he let it all loose at NBC.

I recognized the tone and was relieved it was directed at Russert.

* * *
For a number of reasons, I’m for Obama too, now, but I think — I hope — Plan C now understands the distinction between feeling offended by the anti-feminist attacks on Hillary and supporting her candidacy. I never really supported her; I was simply divided. And now, like so many others, I’ve swung my indecision toward Obama.

* * *

My dating adventures have been inseparable from politics.

A year ago now, I was visiting all those dreadful matchmakers: remember?

I was recently rereading the post I wrote about the first one and thinking that our exchange about politics should have clued me in immediately that a man who talked and thought this way was not going to be able to find a suitable mate for me.

This was the exchange, from the May 1 post:

Ah, but our main discussion was about politics. Remembering the polite disagreement with Nathan the previous day about Guantanamo Bay, I emphasized the importance of liberal-to-left politics for me.

Max: I don’t ask them about their politics.

Mimi: I can understand that. But I wanted to mention that it’s important to me.

Max: I can’t ask them about every little thing –

Mimi: I know you can’t. And anyway, most of the men I’ve dated, most of the men who fit those specs would be against the war anyway, so it’s probably not necessary. But –

Max: Yes?

Mimi: Well, I dated a man yesterday who thought Guantanamo Bay was a good idea, the right thing to do with people, and I really don’t want to date someone who feels like that. But I understand you can’t quiz everybody.

Max: Look at me: I’m 60, and I’m liberal. But I think, we’re at war! this is a war situation! And –

Mimi: And you think that’s what you have to do in wartime?

Max: Yes!

Mimi: Well, I wouldn’t want to date someone who felt that way. I don’t think that’s ‘liberal.’ Most Democrats wouldn’t agree with that.

Max: I’m a registered Democrat.

Mimi: That’s good. But anyway, maybe this kind of thing would come up in conversation before we actually met.

Max: You can’t go through a whole list of opinions with them.

Mimi: I know. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t ask, you know, what do you think of welfare rights, the environment, immigration,
and so forth. But Guantanamo Bay is different.

Max (with genuine curiosity): How’s it different?

Mimi: It’s a matter of rights guaranteed by the Constitution, rights for everyone. This isn’t just a ‘political opinion.’ This is a deep conviction for me.

Max (beginning to understand): Okay…

Mimi: Anyway, I just wanted you to know that, because you say you give five ‘appropriate’ dates, and if I discovered beforehand that a man felt Guantanamo Bay was a good idea, I wouldn’t want to go out with him.

Max: Okay, okay. It’s not going to be easy…

Mimi: I know. The demographics are against me. There aren’t very many of them.

Max: I have plenty of them. But I have to go through my files and find them.

*****

‘Plenty of them’ my ass.

Max had no such men. He only came up with one seemingly-viable candidate, and the guy was a jerk.

* * *
But it was refreshing to hear Plan C ranting at Tim Russert. Better Russert than me.

And if it’s ever me again, I’ll know that the mood will pass.

* * *

And anyway, now that I know Plan C better, I can appreciate and even feel an amused fondness for the sincerity of his passions.

* * *
I don’t think — no, I know — I’ve never before met a man who urged me to call him an asshole or a misogynist if he ever got in a certain mood.

I haven’t yet said, Plan C, you’re being an asshole! Maybe when those rants were being sent in my direction, they formed part of some complex getting-to-know-you thing. We’ll see.

And anyway, perhaps soon McCain will be the ‘enemy.’ Who knows how that will affect our romance?

* * *
POSTSCRIPT
I have just discovered that there is a novel with the same title as this post! It’s by Tahira Naqvi. I hasten to mention this book, which I had never heard of till 1 minute ago. Clearly, the title was ‘in the language’ already and waiting to be used.

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