Last night, after all our students had left the University Writing Center, my colleague and I were closing up shop when she made a rather surprising announcement. “Jennifer,” she said, “I’m voting for Obama. Would you like to hear my reasons why?”

My jaw dropped to my chest, and I immediately took a seat. This colleague is a devoted independent. A 67-year-old lecturer in our English department, she is immensely respected for both her intellect and her gentleness. She is one of only a handful of people I’ve ever known who is genuinely kind and has that remarkable gift of commanding the instant attention of a crowd without raising her voice one decibel. Her students and fellow professors adore her. Politically, she’s one of the few real independents I’ve ever met. A few weeks ago, she listened to a Republican colleague and me debating about the presidential race. She never took a side, but asked some deep, thoughtful questions (as she always does) of both of us. I had no idea during that conversation which side she came down on.

So when she made this announcement last evening, I was shocked. Delighted, but shocked. I took a seat and listened attentively.

“Well, Saturday afternoon, I was puttering around the house,” she said, “when there was a knock at the door. I answered it, and there was a very nice-looking young man with his 5- or 6-year-old son. And he said he was out campaigning for Barack Obama and asked me if I had any questions about Obama that he might be able to answer. I told him that I didn’t really have any questions. And he asked if I had yet decided who I was going to vote for. To which I answered that, because I am legally blind, it is very difficult for me to get out and about and even more difficult for me to use those voting machines. So I was not planning to vote at all. And immediately, he whipped out an absentee ballot application and showed me which parts I needed to fill out. Wasn’t that nice?”

“That’s why you’re voting for Obama?” I asked her. I was a bit dumbfounded. It seemed like such a simple thing.

“Well, it may sound a bit silly,” she said, “but that’s what really got me started. Here was this very well-groomed, well-spoken young man, taking time out of his busy day to canvas our community and help an old lady do her civic duty. I liked that. He was a law student. Very nice young man.”

I laughed and told her I was really pleased he’d made such a good impression. A young man, under the influence of one of those “community organizers” Sarah Palin turned into a punch line at the RNC, made a difference not only in the life of my friend, but also in the campaign. Who’s laughing now? I thought to myself.

“Oh, but that was just one thing that happened this weekend. Two other things reinforced my decision.”

“What were they?” I asked.

“Well, Colin Powell’s endorsement impressed me tremendously. I’ve always respected him. And then that awful Rush Limbaugh’s reaction to Powell made me so angry,” she said. “To say that a brilliant general, an experienced politician, and a civil servant like Powell would make a momentous decision based solely on the color of his skin is such an insult to everything he’s done.”

“Limbaugh’s an ignorant toad,” I agreed.

“Yes. Well, the last thing happened with you actually, when you were taking me to the airport. Do you remember?” she asked me.

I could not recall our talking about politics at all that afternoon. We were leaving a meeting together, and I had volunteered to take her to the airport to catch a flight to Texas for a weekend visit with her son. It had been a fairly short ride, and I didn’t remember anything particular about our conversation.

“I forgot my suitcase,” she reminded me.

“Oh, yes.” I remembered that, but I didn’t really see how it pertained to Obama.

“It was such a stupid thing. You had even asked me if I had my suitcase, but I had grabbed the wrong bag,” she said. “I find myself doing that more and more as I get older. Not major mistakes, but more and more little ones. I am 67 years old, and I am well aware that my faculties are not what they used to be.

John McCain is 72.”

As I drove home last night, I was amazed by the personal nature of my colleague’s decision. She was split right down the middle on the issues - fiscally conservative, but socially liberal. It wasn’t the issues that swayed her. It wasn’t the politics. It was a knock on the door, a racist attack on an admired figure, a realization of one’s own fading sharpness. In the end, that’s what this whole thing’s about anyway, isn’t it? It’s not about a bunch of other creatures on some other planet doing things that mean nothing to us practically. We vote because we believe that one candidate will make a positive difference in our day-to-day struggle to get by.

So this weekend, one candidate gained one more vote. You can’t hope for much more than that.

My husband and I were in Tennessee last weekend to celebrate our 10th anniversary. We had a lovely time hiking in the national park, enjoying the beautiful scenery and the Southern hospitality. But every time we walked through a parking lot, I felt like a stranger in a strange land: every vehicle was adorned with McCain-Palin bumper stickers.

I wasn’t surprised by this; I’ve spent lots of time in the South. I used to live in Florida; my in-laws live in North Carolina, and we’ve gone on countless vacations south of the Mason-Dixon line. After a day or so, I even got used to all the Republican propaganda. Then, I saw one that made my jaw drop. I actually had to stop and stare for a few seconds.

The bumper sticker was pink lettering with a pink silhouette of the fairy Tinkerbell; the letters spelled out: Palin Girl.

I was so shocked, I forgot to take a picture. I’m still looking for a link to a site that sells them. As soon as I find it, I’ll post it, so if you think I’m pulling your leg (or you want to buy one, God forbid), you can check it out.

In that moment, I realized why this woman has “energized” the Republican base (John McCain, Fox News, 10/19/08). Finally, I saw why the thousands of conservatives who have despised Hillary Clinton for 18 years have embraced this woman. Sarah Palin is a woman, but she is a woman who is so completely non-threatening, conservatives can embrace her without surrendering their belief in the intrinsic superiority of men. She is a woman who knows her place in national politics– a pretty face (Rich Lowry, National Review, 10/3/08) who stands quietly (Nicole Wallace, MSNBC, 9/4/08) behind her male candidate. More beauty queen than politician, more cheerleader than world leader.

Don’t get me wrong. I love being a girl myself. I just don’t think it’s the main thing you should advertise about your political candidate. And I’ve got nothing against Tinkerbell. I worked for the Disney Company for 10 years; Tink’s all over the walls of my 3-year-old daughter’s bedroom.  But this bumper sticker was not celebrating the family’s latest vacation to Disney World. It was supposed to be a political statement. Tinkerbell for VP? Little girls who love pink for the GOP? OMG.

As for beauty queens and cheerleaders, I love ‘em. I was a homecoming princess myself. My roommate in my freshman year of college was the senior prom queen at our high school. My sister and best friend were both cheerleaders. I’ve got no problem with them either. But this is not a race for homecoming queen or captain of the cheerleading squad or even vice president of a high school graduating class. Pink fairy bumper stickers strike me as highly inappropriate.

Poor Hillary. No wonder the GOP hates her.

I lost a friend last month. His name was Ryan Gregory Smith, and I had known him for 20 years. We were in marching band together; he played trumpet, and I played clarinet. When we were seniors, I became a drum major (field conductor), and Ryan was our trumpet soloist. We started dating that fall.

Ryan was the ideal high school boyfriend. First, he was beautiful. Six feet tall, slim with great cheekbones and broad shoulders, blond hair that always fell just right and pretty blue eyes. And he was smart. We were in AP classes together, and he did very well in school. He was also funny. He’d throw away one-liners that you wouldn’t get until later. Best of all, he treated me like a treasure. He was a great kisser, but we never went further than that, so things never got difficult or complicated.

We had our graduation party together with four other dear friends, and we spent the whole summer between high school and college, hanging out at my parents’ house, having a blast. It was one of the best times of my life.
Ryan went off to college in Illinois, while I headed to IU in southern Indiana. Then he moved to Cleveland, Ohio. We didn’t see each other much, but we e-mailed and talked on the phone now and then. When he came home to Indy, we always got together for lunch or something.

The last time I saw Ryan was at his brother Matt’s funeral. Matt had committed suicide at age 27. Ryan was devastated. I spoke to him on the phone once, and we exchanged several e-mails in the ensuing months. Then, in August, I learned that he’d been hospitalized with stomach cancer. It was going to be okay, though. And then it wasn’t. He died on August 28th at the age of 36.

Over the past few weeks, I have re-connected with dozens of people over the loss of our friend. I am trying to make sure I make more time for all of my friends now. It’s too bad we have to lose someone to realize how much we value the people around us.

Ryan was a wonderful man. I hope lots of people remember that. I will.