Beech Tree News Network

Politics and religion are two subjects we have all been advised not to bring up in polite circles.  They are polarizing subjects that divide families, sever relationships, and split churches, and I hesitate to offer my opinion on either, except with people like my friend, Kenneth Searles.  When Kenneth brings his vehicle in for an oil change, he always steps out of his vehicle and says, “I need to talk to you.”  In Kenneth speak that usually means something controversial has recently occurred in the political arena, and he wants to know what I think about it.  Kenneth and I are affiliated with different political parties, but we often agree on what is best for our country.  It is a rare meeting of minds, and I value it.

                I grew up with a dad who had very definite political and religious views, and he was always right—according to him, anyway.  I can still see him pounding the dinner table with his fist to emphasize a point.  Silver ware rattled against plates.  My small hand reached out to steady a glass of milk as my father’s opinion rippled down the dinner table.  As his voice rose in pitch and his face reddened, he struggled to finish his insult or admonition before he was forced to take his next breath of air.  There was never any discussion on the matter.  The rest of my family and I were merely the audience as my dad preached about how many idiots—or eejits, as he liked to say—there were in the world, and how our world had fallen into moral decay.  “We’re doomed!” he would finish then ask somebody to pass the mashed potatoes.  I grew up believing an all-consuming God would be blowing up our planet at any given minute.  That’s a pretty heavy image for a little kid to carry around.

                By the time I left home after high school, I’d had my fill, although I did take a few side trips to the land of self-righteousness and fundamentalism.  Those were pretty much short-lived, however, thanks to the know-it-all rug.  You know the one.  It slips out from under people who think they have all the answers, leaving them face-planted in ideas they had never considered.  One of my friends gave me a small painted gourd with the following inscription: Keep company with those who seek the truth. Run from those who have found it.

                In an election year like the current one, politics takes on a life of its own.  It is demanded of us that we take sides, no compromise.  Not only is there little common ground, middle ground has all but disappeared.  One afternoon, when I was particularly frustrated with the bickering between the political parties, I announced to my husband, Garey, that I was going to take a stand for middle ground and change my registration to the Independent Party.

                “I think you should,” he replied.  “I’m going to change mine to the Slumber Party.  If we have any disagreements, we can have a pillow fight to settle the issue.”  (Garey always makes me laugh when I get too worked up about things.)

                It’s important to let people know where you stand as a candidate, but I’m weary of the accusations and name-calling on both sides of the aisle.  Tell me what you stand for and why you stand for it.  I will listen then weigh the information for myself.  Don’t demand that I think like you think.  I may be at a different place on my journey.  Years ago, Garey said something to me that I’ve never forgotten.  He said, “If you’re not secure enough in what you believe that you have to try to make others believe like you do then you’re not secure enough in what you believe.” 

Full disclosure: Garey and I are supporting two different candidates in the 2020 election.  We each have our reasons, and we give each other room for individual choice.  I’m not telling you who those candidates are, however, because I know better than to discuss politics or religion in polite circles.