A Family Divided by Obama and McCain

The last time my father and I voted for the same political candidate was in 1976, when we both supported Gerald Ford. Of course, my father's vote mattered more than mine at the time, given that he voted at the county courthouse, whereas I (a mere 7-year-old) was allowed to vote only in a mock election in Mrs. Amerghetti's second-grade class. Still, we were in alliance! I believed in Ford because my dad believed in Ford, and I worshipped my dad. I was rather surprised, then, to wake up on the morning of Nov. 3 and discover that my new President was Jimmy Carter. Up until that moment, it had never occurred to me that my father could be wrong about anything.

As I grew up, I took after my dad in dozens of ways. I inherited his height, his humor, his softheartedness, his love of walking and reading. But I didn't inherit his politics. In that regard, I more closely resembled my mother--a woman who believes that we are actually morally required to look after our fellow man. Of course, my dad believes that too (as long as it doesn't raise his taxes). Confoundingly, my father shares many beliefs with me and my mom and a lot of people who will be voting for Barack Obama this year. Like us, my dad believes that women should have access to abortion and that gay couples should have access to marriage. Like us, he'd prefer a little more gun control and a little less war. Like us, he admires immigrant gumption, detests George W. Bush, applauds the separation of church and state and suspects that human behavior might be affecting climate change. But unlike us, he's voting Republican. Why?

One answer, I suppose, is lifelong habit. A more complicated answer might involve the economy, which my father--against all recent evidence--still believes Republicans will safeguard better than Democrats. Of course, there's another answer too: that perhaps my father's beliefs are none of my stinking business.

So why can't I leave it alone? I've become obsessed with my father's vote, losing sleep over it, worrying about it so much that you'd swear this entire election hinged on one man's choice. Nothing could be further from the truth, actually. My dad votes Republican in the Democratic-leaning state of Connecticut. As he himself assures me, his vote will mean nothing in 2008. Yet it somehow means everything to me. I struggle because I'm trying to reconcile this man's wisdom against his sometimes mystifying decisions.

Good Lord, how much simpler it is to dismiss your political foes when you don't know them personally! Knowing my father as I do, I'm forced to acknowledge that his political views come to him from an honest and thoughtful place, as do all of his most cherished beliefs. My dad, after all, is not a sucker or a scoundrel or a zealot, but a deeply principled individual. Yet he's gone and raised himself a deeply principled daughter who happens to see the world very differently. And this frightens me. I fear that our conflicting political choices could somehow threaten our affection, our kinship. Is it like this for everyone from a loving family divided by politics? I have a friend who spent an hour on the phone screaming at her Republican brother in Florida. That's a strategy, sure, but I'm not sure what it achieves. And anyway, I don't come from a confrontational family; when Gilberts get angry with each other, we work it out by taking walks in the woods, alone, until the heat passes.

Last week, after a sleepless night, I got wise and shifted my attention to my mother. How does she handle the divide? Interestingly, Mom--who routinely cancels out Dad's vote--isn't fretting about his opinions. Nor does he fret, by the way, about hers. They will vote as they always have--privately, differently, diffusing each other's impact, creating in their opposition an alkaline neutrality in which serenity can endure.

To someone who cares deeply about politics, this feels too passive. Yet I know my parents care too. And they understand that if they made their love conditional on political harmony, they could lose all. Politeness is how they mend the breach. And then they have lunch.

I sometimes long to call my dad and beg him or scold him or force him to accept my worldview. It would certainly make me feel more comfortable if he surrendered. But he won't. So I will take my mother's example and refrain. And then I will take my father's example and go for a walk in the woods until I calm down. I am certain that somewhere today, in the cool Connecticut autumn, my beloved dad is doing the same. Walking along with me, in a different direction, in a different forest, quietly.

Gilbert is the author of Eat, Pray, Love