My American Dad was born and bred in the great city of Chicago and he loved his Cubs. When he was a boy in the 1930’s, the owner of the team would send stacks of free baseball tickets to his grammar school so the kids would get hooked early. My Dad was also a political junkie and lifelong Democrat, who, despite living in Canada from the age of 30, kept his US citizenship so he could keep rocking the vote. In later years, he cast his ballot in the swing state of Florida, adding fuel to the fire. In his eyes, the right to vote and the significance of every ballot was almost as important as education, or taking time off from work to watch the game, see friends and enjoy life.
In my cynical, apolitical days, he would call the morning of every federal, provincial and municipal election to ask if I had voted, and if I hadn’t; drive across town to chauffeur me to the polling station and then reward my trouncing apathy with a free lunch. He explained the seemingly inexplicable, laid out the choices and encouraged me to act, but never once tried to influence my actual vote. He never told me what to do, which, naturally, laid the groundwork for me to find it in myself to do it.
In his lifetime, my father got to see the first African-American man become President of the United States, but his death, over three years ago, precludes him from seeing the first woman. I am not one for regrets and neither was he, but how I wish he could have seen the great Bernie Sanders in action, his now civic-minded daughter become a wonk and his Cubs win the World Series for the first time in 108 years.
I think it’s safe to say that I have developed a kinda thing for old men. Here’s another, with some crack advice. Thanks to Sarah Cooper, for hooking us up.
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