Genesis of a Libtard

Unlike Lady GaGa, I wasn’t born this way. I was a disaffected Republican long before I became what I am today, a disaffected Democrat. What follows is obviously incomplete, despite its length. My apologies because the point probably gets made well before the piece more stops than ends; perhaps this will eventually become a chapter in my autobiographical memoir.

Although my (moderately) conservative/Republican roots run deep, I am the outlier in my family. My father probably never voted for a Democrat in his life. In his later years at Friendship Village, he was a regular at meetings of the Concerned Conservative Citizens (aka Cranky Old White Boys Club). My brothers probably tilt farther right than I do left. But my final paper in my senior year of high school (1966) was an earnest assessment of the Republican Party and who in it could best return the country to their leadership. The first group I tried to join at the prep-school dominated Hamilton (named for Alex while he was still alive – old ivy on those walls) College was the Young Republicans.

So how did a white bread suburban boy (from the originally solid Republican Webster Groves) end up inhabiting the left side of the political spectrum? Because I reject simple and simplistic explanations and solutions, you may not be surprised to learn that I believe there are multiple reasons for my evolution and leftward shift.

• Child of the ‘60s: Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam, Bob Dylan. Conservatives who now control the Republican Party have been consistent opponents to the expansion of civil rights for minorities and women since the ‘60s; Nixon’s “southern strategy” politically solidified that stance. Karl Rove put it in concrete with rebar reinforcements.

• First Job: Orderly on the men’s ward of old St. Luke’s on Delmar, lots of black patients and co-workers. Spare time reading the St. Louis American. God forbid I actually do any of the assigned reading required by UM-St. Louis!

• Marriage to an intelligent woman (met and worked with at the aforementioned St. Luke’s); father to an intelligent daughter, who has since given birth to an intelligent granddaughter. The goals of the women’s movement were/are obviously important – and personal. (My mother was born too soon and frustrated by the limited roles available to her. That added to the movement’s appeal.)

• Public school teacher in a district that served a population that did not share many of the advantages of their more affluent neighbors, including those in schools I had attended (Webster Groves and Ladue). This changed me on at least three different levels.

      ° I found myself almost immediately thrust into the nascent teacher union movement. Let’s just say that conservatives were not supportive of teachers having any power to advocate for themselves or their students. That being said, it was not always a Republican/Democrat dichotomy, and I voted for several Republican state representatives and state senators. Union endorsements tilted Blue, but were not exclusive by any means, at least not at first. In fact, as I set out in 1976 to find a candidate to support for state representative, Republicans were my first choice because the WG then was reliably Republican and I wanted to back a winner; WG, too, has shifted away from the new Republican Party; those denizens who remain are often derisively referred to as RINOs. As union power grew within the Democrat party, the Republican party countered by moving the right and becoming even less friendly, sometimes seemingly antagonistic, to the concerns of public education and educators (where it remains), as well as unions and workers in general.

      ° The word “underprivileged” rubs many of my formers the wrong way; one reason may be that “privilege” has taken on a different, more politically charged, meaning in the modern lexicon. Maybe they perceive the term as some kind of condescension that discounts what they’ve accomplished in life. Perhaps a preferable term is “disadvantaged.” Those students didn’t understand (and some still don’t, it seems to me) how badly the system is rigged, stacked against them. That many manage to beat the rigged game and still overcome those disadvantages speaks loudly to their resilience, but does not negate the existence of those obstacles they had to conquer to do so.

      ° While it is not a job requirement, per se, most teachers, or at least most of the best I know, are empathetic; we know that no one is solely responsible for either success or failure. Most of us have no trouble with the expression, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” Empathy has become a dirty word to modern day Republicans; and Trumpists, well, that’s a rant for another day, leading to....

• A growing belief that just because something is not MY problem does not keep it from being A problem. I find the left more accommodating of that POV than the right. In my dotage I have greatly narrowed the focus of the problems on which I concentrate, but that does NOT mean I can’t recognize the importance of the oh so many others faced by my fellow citizens. I have used the analogy before, but conservatives’ version of a social safety net is a leftover rope and the admonition to “Pull yourself up.” While liberals seemingly want to solve every problem, no matter how few people it affects, often devising overly complex (and often ineffective) systems that validate the Law of Unintended Consequences, they at least generally recognize that complex problems require more than simplistic solutions.

Finally, or at least my final point, is conservative resistance to the concept that health care is, or should be, a right of all citizens, and not limited by jobs or economic status. I have a daughter and granddaughter afflicted, through no fault of their own, with auto-immune diseases that could block them from affordable access to the health care system without the current protections for those with pre-existing conditions that conservatives want to strip from current law, so this is obviously extremely personal.

As the parties themselves become increasingly tribal, polar and partisan, I am disaffected, and often disgusted, by both. That’s my story and so here I stand, with clowns to left of me and jokers to the right; I certainly lean left now, but really see myself as stuck in the middle (hopefully with you).

Disclaimer: This deliberately provocative title to grab attention does NOT constitute permission to aim such an offensive insult at any other person or group; that would include me.

Don't Put Me In Coach; I'm Not Ready to Play

Ain’t no point in talkin’ when there’s nobody listenin’ so I’ll just stand aside  (apologies to Rod Stewart, Young Turks”)

I have avoided posting or sharing anything critical of President Trump for some time now. I do continue to read and react (mostly privately) to information I encounter in the media, both social and traditional (yes, I read magazines, newspapers, listen to the radio, even watch the occasional television news). After researching sources, I have also posted, and will continue to post, counterpoints to the simplistic memes and blatantly prejudiced and one-sided pieces that violate “the stink test,” as well as those that are either factually inaccurate or conveniently selective in the facts presented.

Nevertheless, I am refraining from joining the chorus of critics on social media. It’s not because I have any confidence in the President, or that I believe he has suddenly become a better person (see R•E•S•P•E•C•T); I do not. However, it’s not a fine line between singing in the choir or just waiting and watching, and until I can bring something to party other than other people’s chips and dip (tweets and shares), I am satisfied to not RSVP. When I do show up to the party (and it’s almost a dead certainty that I will, at some point), it likely will be with a dish (blog post) of my own creation, not something I found in the aisles of the internet.

The anti-Trump choir already has plenty of members; it doesn’t need another monotone to amplify the volume. I respect those who feel the need to speak out, to march, to protest in any number of ways. It is not just their right, but their duty. Perhaps I am even shirking that duty and abrogating my rights by sitting quietly (well, relatively quietly) on the sidelines, at least for the time being. Perhaps the voices are making a difference. If you believe the polls, Mr. Trump has the lowest approval rating in history, or at least since Abraham Lincoln. Therein lies the problem, however.

Mr. Trump’s supporters don’t believe the polls. They justify that stance by (correctly) pointing out that the polls also predicted an election day defeat, and, yet, here he is, the duly elected, 45th president of the United States. I could argue that the biggest positive to come out of this election is a healthy skepticism of polls. I might further argue that reliance on those polls might have cost Secretary Clinton the election. Next time people might actually think it important to vote, like Mr. Trump’s supporters (or Mrs. Clinton’s haters) did.

I am also striving, mightily and some would no doubt say with limited success, to be better than those who never gave President Obama a fair chance, including virtually every Republican in Congress, plus all sorts of people, apparently using Mr. Trump as a role model, who are revising their personal history and now claiming they wanted Mr. Obama to succeed; I remember your posts and memes, even if you don’t. I also remember the steady stream of vitriole from Fox News and Rush Limbaugh. Fair chance? Fat chance!

On our recent cruise with the 1%-ers my standard line was, “It’s premature to judge whether or not Trump will be a good president, but he is NOT a good person.” Having received but one (bizarre, IMO, but it came out of Facebook, so the standards are not particularly high {“He won, so he must be good,” while simultaneously telling me how awful Bill Clinton was.}) defense of his character, clearly that does not seem to matter to his supporters. And if that doesn’t matter, what is the point, because any judgment of the political ramifications of his presidency is pure speculation at this point in history.

For now, at least, I will continue to sit on the sidelines, not because I have any confidence whatsoever in this presidency, but because every time the choir sings, Mr. Trump’s supporters go into their bunkers, dig in their heels, and either fire back a defensive fusillade or put on their noise-cancelling headphones and listen to their own music. I think the chorus is self-defeating at this point; the Trumpet section, playing their own tune equally loudly, is going to have to come to the conclusion that this was not a good choice on their own. That won’t happen quickly, and, obviously, for some, not at all, ever, because clearly our tastes in music differ.

As difficult as it is for people like me to accept, there is absolutely nothing I can say, no facts I can share, no logic I can use that will make a difference. So here I sit. My only concern: Is my passive patience feeding the delusion of not just his supporters but the president himself that I have no worries about what the future holds? That is manifestly untrue (not even an alternate fact), but I also wonder, did the silent “good Germans” enable Adolph Hitler* and his consolidation of power? Although my strategy is not really as passive as it might appear, I do ask myself, “Am I now part of the problem by not being part of the solution?”  As always, I have more questions than answers.

*Am I equating Trump to Hitler? No, at least not yet. But there are parallels which I think supporters ignore at their, and our, peril.

Part of Life is Leaving It Behind

 It has (after a long period of agonizing soul-searching that even took me to a psychologist) occurred to me that if you're ambivalent, you can't be fully committed, and if you can't be fully committed (and circumstances don't require you to continue), then that's probably a clue it's time to move on. So, if you'll pardon my self-indulgence, this is what I started writing (without any certainty that I wanted to publish it) as I wrestled with my decision about continuing my teaching career, until finally reaching the conclusion that my ambivalence was sending me a clear message -- I had already made the decision!
    So, on Monday, 3/18, I will be giving Carolyn an early birthday present, turning in my retirement letter. I'm hopeful that it's a present that I will enjoy, as well.

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I am treading water in the Gulf of Ambivalence, trying to come to a decision on whether to continue (or at least at what level--I'm close to full-time now) my career as a teacher. Being a teacher has always been more than a job for me; a teacher is who I am at least as much as what I do, certainly far more than just how I’ve made a living for the past 42 years.

We teachers are kind of like hosts at a big, annual party that lasts for 9-10 months. As a teaching staff we are responsible for providing the sustenance and entertainment for our guests, ostensibly while steering them toward a bright and productive future. The limits of my energy, time, and motivation have pretty much reduced me to bringing chips and dip. While I confess that I had the fantasy of ending my career as Mr. Chips, I had a more Peter O'Toole kind of image in mind. 

Of course, I like to believe that my chips are unique, that my dip is a personal brand developed over 40+ years. I also like to believe that my scintillating company is of value, because I really do care for my guests and take pride in being a congenial, stimulating host, worthy of their time and effort. Still, despite assurances to the contrary from students and their parents, I’ve come to wonder if I’m not spinning my world-view for my own convenience.

The truth is, I am no longer willing to invest the time to develop new recipes or get advanced training in party-giving. It’s not that I don’t want to work with my colleagues, to pitch in when help is needed, to contribute my expertise, such as it is, to the mix of ideas, or to be a part of group projects, but there are definitely limits to how much I’m willing to do to make my party room better. Sure, I’m always open to and on the lookout for minor changes to improve the ambiance or content of my room, to tweak my time-tested recipes based on my guests' needs, but I’m pretty much as good a room host as I want to be.

Sadly, but realistically, I am content to manage my own little room with its chips and dip, and enjoyable, sometimes, perhaps, even memorable conversations on wide-ranging topics, flavored with dashes of serendipity. I don’t lack for guests in my room; people always seem to be happy to spend time there, but that may be because I have become a purveyor of tasty junk food; what they may need are people willing to make them eat their vegetables.

The Party Biz has changed dramatically since I started hosting, with ever increasing demands for documentation and accountability. I concede that party-house management has every right to insist on certain standards, personal and party improvement plans, even a certain level of standardization. But, to paraphrase Bob Dylan, “That ain’t me, babe.” What you see is what you get and I can no longer commit to more than what I am already am. 

I recognize that a good room requires not only the artistry to capture an audience, but sufficient planning to implement that artistry. At this stage I confess that I rely more on my skills, experience, and 42 years of previous performances than new preparation. If that’s no longer good enough, well, then it’s time to go our separate ways, ideally with no hard feelings on either side.

Selfishly, I know that I may (probably will) miss being a room host; I’ll definitely miss working with my great team of co-hosts, professionals for whom I have the utmost respect. I’ll miss the interaction with my guests and visitors. (I do sometimes wonder if I need to teach or if I just need an audience.) Although I still love my kids and believe I help them grow, maybe it's time for me to take the advice I give my kids: "Good enough is seldom good enough." 
    It's kind of moot whether I can no longer give my best or if my best is no longer good enough. I’m becoming increasingly frustrated and dissatisfied with my own performance, and while I’m egotistical enough to think that my 80-90% is as good as many others’ 100%, the question is, “Is it good enough for me?” If I’m not sure, I’d rather go out a little too soon than a little too late. (I'd rather be Stan Musial than Willie Mays, although I don't claim teacher-equivalence to either of those baseball greats.) 

I am also aware that, personally, retirement may not be good for me, that I may, probably will, regret walking away from a keystone of my identity, losing the regular interaction with students and colleagues. When I returned to the classroom at Schechter four years ago, I came home that first day, hugged my wife and cried, saying, “I had so much fun today!” While I still have fun working with my kids, I’m not sure that’s enough, that it’s not just selfishness on my part. Their job is to learn, not make my life entertaining or pleasurable.

As noted way back in the introduction, I started writing this with no clear intent to publish, but simply needing to put thoughts down in writing to help me with the decision. It’s also possible that the decision is no longer mine to make, but that’s OK because I ceded that power; in fact, I may have retired myself by being open and honest about my lack of ambition in the professional growth arena. 

If such is the case, I can live with that (especially since I'm taking the decision back into my own hands now). It is now time to redefine my normal and find a new focus that satisfies my needs, but, for better and worse, it seems unlikely that classroom teaching will continue to be much more than the background of that picture.
Final note: The title is from a song (Adrienne Young).