Practically Laura

Everyday No. 2

If you asked me who I’m voting for this presidential election, I would say no comment or something of the equivalent. Religion I may bring up with just about anyone, but when it comes to politics (especially now), I would rather not discuss it unless I’m extremely close to you, and I already know where you stand. Most of the time, there are no surprises that way.

But I do need to voice an opinion now and then, so as you might guess, my husband is the person most likely to hear my thoughts on the subject.

He's a great choice, by the way. He loves current events, politics, and history. He devours newspapers, talk radio, cable, and internet news. He reads every presidential biography he can get his hands on and then some. His dream job would be something revolving around teaching history or political science. In other words, he’s a good person for me to bounce back and forth thoughts and ideas about this touchy subject.

Oh, yeah—we also share a love of political humor. We’ll laugh at almost any politician whether we admire them or not. Hey, if you want to be in politics…

He’s a safe person, too.

To be frank, I rely on him to give me reasoned, well-informed information and opinions on the subject. I’m not as interested in current events as he. I have muffins to bake and naps to take, right?

That was a joke. In truth, I shy away from too much news. It causes me anxiety. I try to balance not keeping my head in the sand with the overwhelming information age we live in, needing to focus more on my present circumstances, while at the same time praying for our leaders and people around the world as they experience disaster…heartbreak.

It breaks my heart.

Anyway, I told him this recently—how much I rely on his good information and commentary. I wanted to give him a compliment, but I may have overstated my propensity to shelter myself, possibly even calling myself intellectually lazy. There may be some faded shade of truth to that, but I really shouldn’t say it out loud. It seems my self-deprecating humor needs more bounds.

His response was to suggest I read Politico.

This made me laugh. He’s so pragmatic. I’ve got that side to me, too, but I’m not sure he got how amusing I found it.

As we’ve been discussing the presidential race, he’s mentioned his Grandma Rotella a few times. He misses her, and he and his mom have been talking about what she would’ve said, who she might've voted for in this current race. Frances was a staunch Democrat, and back in the mid-1980s, Craig was just starting to figure out who he was and, at the time, a typical Alex P. Keaton, Hip-to-be-Square Republican. He was very much a product of the Texas, conservative movement of the day. Oh, the fun they had arguing with each other! Oh, man. They loved each other a bunch.

Frances, too, was a product of her environment and circumstances, an amazing cook and hostess, she loved nothing more than putting out a huge spread and seeing her family enjoy it to the fullest. And we did. “Seconds, anyone?” and second generation, New Jersey, Italian-American and identity completely wrapped up in it. In fact, I was just asking Craig about this, and he describes her as a massive Yankees fan. She loved the Yankees; she loved her Italian heritage, and she loved a Democratic candidate. She also loved penny poker and playing Mah-Jong with the neighbor ladies. I bet she ended up with all the pennies.

She was one smart, sharp lady.

I love that Craig had her—someone who loved him despite ideological differences.

I wish everyone had that. Maybe then they wouldn’t be so scared. Maybe then they’d remember to keep their eyes on Jesus.

I need to remember it, too, but for now, I guess I’ll go and read Politico.

Michael J. Fox as Alex P. Keaton in Family Ties

Everyday No. 1

…a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance

Ecclesiastes 3:4 (NIV)

How do you gather your thoughts in a basket with holes? Well, I try. Writing helps.

It’s an understatement to say it’s been a sad few days.

A disturbed person may choose a target, and that’s what happened last Friday. I know you know this, but I feel the need to restate it—a sniper killed five people (Dallas police officers) while they worked at a peaceful protest that night.

I feel sadness then fatigue then distraction. My thoughts go round and round my head while I sit still, while I run errands, while I’m at church. What does it all mean? Has it always been this bad?

Growing up in the seventies and eighties in North Oak Cliff, I didn’t think so. Sunset High School, the school I attended, was nicely integrated. I know there were attitudes beneath the surface, but for the most part, I feel we felt more of a modern generation, a generation that didn’t necessarily register race at first glance. Even then and knowing that others of our age would’ve concurrently lived a more segregated lifestyle, it wasn’t that way for us. Was it perfect? No. In fact, my own youthful lack of caution and ignorance may have offended some person at some time. I cringe to think of such a mistake. I hope you’ll forgive my lack of sensitivity if that’s the case, but please know it wasn’t on purpose. It was more from the unspoken assumption on my part that we are equal. 

I would prefer you think of me as a person first. I would rather give you the same consideration, yet be assured I respect your right to be proud of any part of your heritage or identity. On second thought, I would love it if you thought of me as a Christ-follower.

But to get back on track, the fact of the matter is that we’re still self-segregated, although I view it more as a socioeconomic (possibly educational) divide, instead of a racial divide—not even a religious one.

Last week makes me think I may be wrong.

In the meantime and as a white, middle-aged housewife that lives in a fairly diverse Houston suburb, I wonder what I might change in my own life. What do I need to do? I’ve yet to come to a conclusion other than wild thoughts of moving my family farther into the city, somehow trying to breach that divide.

I don’t think that’s a possibility for now. Instead, I paste on an awkward albeit sincere smile as I go through life instead of looking down; I pray silent, disjointed words that only Christ understands; and I wait for an answer.

Then I’m brave enough to talk to my children about subjects I don't mind broaching but wish it wasn't a necessity. Subjects like how I believe we’re all equal but not the same. God made each of us in his image yet unique. “When the heart breaks, no, it don’t break even,” after all.* And things about life not being fair, but I still feel it’s good. And in saying this acknowledging how blessed I am, and the irony that it may be too easy for me to hang on to that hope due to my background and circumstances.

And people I don’t know…just people…giving me awkward smiles back.

No man is an island,

Entire of itself,

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thy friend's

Or of thine own were:

Any man's death diminishes me,

Because I am involved in mankind,

And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

by John Donne

 

*Lyrics from “Breakeven” by The Scripts