Want to know why you should vote for Barack Obama? Read this. Don't be scared! It's a benign, apolitical post that will incite within you neither hope nor fear. It even has a cute picture.
Did you read it? Now you see my problem. (And, yes, it is related to Senator Obama, but I'll get to that later.) I am experiencing a bit of guilt regarding my second child. Until last week we had only one picture of Mary on the wall--compared to 3,852 of David. Guess when I finally ordered Mary's birth announcements. Three days before her first birthday. (Better late than never??) And her baby book? I think it's going to have 2 and a half pages in it.
I know you are thinking that I shouldn't worry about those superficial things. Surely, love is not measured by the physical remembrances of babyhood. So it's not the lack of pictures or projects that bothers me, but the lack of stories. Having moved to Turkey when he was 8 weeks old and returning at age 2, David's babyhood has a clear narrative--the World Traveler, filled with countless delightful anecdotes. In contrast, the narrative of Mary's babyhood is Being David's Baby Sister, and it is filled with--stories about David. When David was a baby, the universe revolved around him. And I think it still does.
The dearth of special Mary-centered adventure stories has become even more evident to me lately, as David now frequently asks to hear stories about when he was a baby. I think to myself, "What am I going to tell Mary?" Sure, she's been to Billy Bob's. But it's hard to compete with the Pyramids.
However, recently I have noticed that a new narrative of Mary's babyhood is emerging. It's not the primary narrative (that is destined to remain Being David's Baby Sister); it's a secondary one, but a storyline that is her own. It's called Baby for Obama. I can follow a thread that began not too long after she was born:
--Mary was born in Ohio, the quintessential battleground state (minus the Epcot Center and a really tan governor). She may face the Electoral College Blues for the rest of her life, but at least she got a piece of the action as a baby.
--A tiny Mary slept in my arms for hours on end while I read Dreams from My Father, working out what I thought about Barack Obama. (I ultimately concluded that I really wanted him to be president.)
--During David's nap every afternoon last winter, Mary and I would lie on the floor together while she played with Duplo Legos and I fretted about Hillary Clinton, my New York Times in hand.
--In February, a three-month-old Mary came with me and my friend Gina to one of those giant Obama rallies, back in the "Yes We Can"/"fierce urgency of now" days of the primary (Ah, those were the days. . . ) It was very cold, and we had to stand in line for ages, waiting our turn to go through the thorough Secret Service security check. (Even Mary was frisked!) Mary was content (and toasty) in her sling, under a quilt. She fussed during the climax of Barack's speech, but no matter. The best part was the positive energy, excitement, and diversity of the crowd. We shared the experience with military members, moms with kids, grandmas, middle-aged men, college students, etc. And I think it was our very first mother-daughter adventure.
--Asleep in her car seat, Mary came with me when I voted in the primary, early of course. All the ladies at the Board of Elections doted on her, declaring her a "doll baby."
--Perched in the backpack, Mary also came with me when I voted in the general election, which I did several weeks ago (gotta love early voting in Ohio!). The same ladies remarked on her sweetness and gave her an "I Voted" sticker, joking that she was the youngest voter so far. (To those of you concerned about voter fraud in Ohio: She did not actually vote.)
--Mary came with me and Greg to her second Obama rally.
--Since August I have tried to go canvassing once a week, and once the weather cooled off, Mary has become my companion. In the stroller or the backpack, she's my little Obama buddy. Admittedly, Mary makes me less efficient: The houses are spread out in our community, and we are only knocking on certain doors, so there is always a good deal of getting in and out of the car, which is slower with a baby. But, by taking Mary, I feel like I can go more often (because it's easier on Greg and David), and, as our field organizer likes to point out, "She is so cute that any lack in the quantity of contacts is more than made up for with quality." Really, I don't take Mary along to exploit her good looks . . . but I can't help but wonder if the sweet face and lopsided pigtails haven't swayed an undecided voter or two?
You see? There's a story here! And a very cool baby book page or two--that would take me up to 4 and a half pages! Sure, there's a story here whether or not Obama wins, but the Baby for Obama narrative is definitely better if Obama becomes President. I mean, the climax falls a bit flat if Barack Obama joins the likes of Winfield Scott and Walter Mondale in the footnotes of history.
So, to my readers who happen to live in one of the 11-18 states that matter: If, after the longest campaign in the history of the universe, you are still undecided (a state of being which neither I nor my McCain-supporting friends can fathom), at this point helping out a mom who's trying to ease a little Second-Child-Neglect-Guilt is as good of a reason as any to vote for Barack Obama. Mary's story should have the happy ending, so it can stand up better against the 800 Baby David videos on our hard drive.
But whatever the ending, the moral of this story is still the same: It is fun to be cynical; it is more fun to be involved.
