1 Boring Old Man

I suppose you could call it cowardice. In World War I, a number of men who got shaky in battle and couldn’t/wouldn’t fight were executed by firing squads. Today, we would call it P.T.S.D. [Post Traumatic Stress Disorder]. Before the 2004 Election, I went on a three week "news restriction." Then I watched the Election Night returns, frequently leaving the room. After that night, I got clinically depressed for the first known time in my life, and ended up starting this blog. In 2006, I went camping on a mountain-top in a fog bank on Election Night. My wife huddled in the camper with a small television and earphones while I sat outside and watched the fire burn out. This year, I’ve moved in and out of the room during the debates. It definitely feels like a sickness.

So, this Friday, I’m flying to San Diego and getting on a cruise ship to explore the western coast of Mexico. I’m going with friends, but I worry that the kind of people who go on cruises will be Republicans [all of whom are getting angrier and angrier as time progresses and the polls look like they do right now]. I definitely don’t want to talk about it. I’ll get back a couple of days before the Election. My plans for Election Night aren’t firm, but I’m going to try to sit in the room with the television set on and get through it. After all, I’m a grown-up now. Watching the returns is a responsibility. And, of course, I’ve already voted [if pirates capture my cruise ship, I still want my vote to be counted].

Maybe it started with Ronald Reagan’s election. I liked, and still like, Jimmy Carter. I was proud he was from my State and that he was honest. I didn’t think he was a bad President, but wasn’t surprised that he lost. What surprised me was the venom that some of my friends had for him, still have even today. It was the first time I saw the kind of contempt that we’ve become used to in the era of Karl Rove – the kind of hatred we are hearing yelled out in McCain and Palin rallies. I sometimes think that’s where it started, my Election Night Phobia.

But that’s not really right, because I didn’t have it in 2000. I wasn’t in love with Al Gore. He was okay, but I was kind of mad that he didn’t separate himself from Clinton’s misadventures more. I knew nothing of George Bush [who did?]. And I’d never heard of Karl Rove. I wasn’t terribly off of Pappa Bush. I voted against him, but there wasn’t much passion in the vote. So I thought that Bush Junior would be more of the same. Like many, I only knew Cheney as the dour Secretary of Defense during the first Gulf War. Like many, I thought he was picked as VP to keep Junior in line.

So maybe the roots of my Election Night Phobia were with Nixon’s Election, or maybe Reagan’s, but it flowered after Bush and Cheney showed their hands and really went to war in Iraq. I just couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. The idea that they would make up a scenario and actually use it to go to war with real guns and bullets and kill and be killed made mincemeat out of me. I felt ashamed that I didn’t know about them beforehand. Since then, I’ve devoted a piece of every day to know what’s going on in Washington and in the world. That started even before I retired and had time to do it like I do now. Part of my excitement about going on a cruise, is that I know that this close to the Election, all I’ll do here is read every newspaper and blog I can find trying to deal with my fear that something will go wrong. On the cruise ship, I’ll talk to friends, eat, and look at the scenery. My phobia started in March 2003 when our tanks rolled into Iraq. It was the day that the importance of our votes really became clear to me, finally, at sixty-one years old. And although I wish my sickness didn’t hurt as much as it has sometimes in these last five years, I doubt that I’ll ever get over it. I don’t even really want to…