I think I should reevaluate my political paradigm, for Ben’s sake. I need to look underneath calcified opinions that have subtly grown as comfortable as well-worn pieces of furniture. I’ve always liked Connecticut Sen. Joe Lieberman, for example, but do I really know why? What if my visceral attachment is baseless, some superficial matter of the acoustical resonance of his baritone register or his smart attire, and I am already leading my son down a path of senseless warmongering?
Many people have traveled so far down their respective road of political ideology that the mere thought of turning back, even on “minor” issues, is simply too repulsive to entertain. Like my grandparents who automatically pulled the “R” lever to select all Republicans in every election, their political makeup is as cemented as a genetic predisposition to heart disease or diabetes.
Whether the subject is society or science, this kind of partisanship would undoubtedly disturb Albert Einstein, who once said in a letter to Otto Juliusburger that people should “never cease to stand like curious children before the great mystery into which we were born.” As one of the foremost examples in his life, isn’t it part of my job to encourage Ben’s political curiosity and to help him search out new answers to even the oldest questions?
It’s fine to dismiss ideas for Social Security reform when the conversation exists only among adults. But what about children inheriting a risky financial future? Don’t we owe it to them to actually fix the problem? The same goes for health-care reform. How long have Democrats and Republicans circled around the same tired arguments without reaching across the aisle to find solutions to the crisis? Fortunately, Ben has more-than-adequate health insurance, but a great many Americans don’t. What about his future friends and family? What about after his mother and I are gone?
Politics is often dubbed “the art of the possible,” but as I hold up Ben’s still-soft head in the crook of my elbow, I contemplate how I have contributed to the current stagnant atmosphere of hopeless impossibility. I am aware of a sudden compulsion to retrace my steps to see where I might find common ground with the other side of an argument.
But, then again, I could be giving myself too much credit. After all, President Reagan, the “Great Communicator,” had little influence on his son Ron’s political bent. Members of the Kennedy clan could not persuade their son- and brother-in-law, California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger, to follow in their progressive footsteps.
According to a 2003 Pew Research Center study, married parents lean right politically and single parents lean left. (Perhaps because singles value government assistance more.) Is it possible — for Ben’s benefit — that I can step outside my married paradigm to understand the challenges unique to raising children alone?
As Caucasians who live in an African-American neighborhood, how will my wife and I expose our son to the traditions and cultures of our neighbors in a substantial way that moves beyond political correctness? Will our kids play with each other and develop genuine friendships? That’s our hope. On issues as far-ranging as racial equality, abortion, religious expression, bioethics and immigration, will I let my own ideological baggage get in the way of what Ben’s future holds? I fear it’s possible.
Will he learn to demonize those who oppose his views, as the Republican Congress once portrayed President Clinton, and as many Democrats depict our current commander-in-chief? Will he choose his party based on principles or his principles based on party? It is far too early to know, of course. Veteran parents will undoubtedly scoff and snicker at the open-eyed wonder that I bring to my newfound responsibility. I might be naïve, but I think these are questions that all parents — all of us, really — must ask if we are to engage in genuine political discourse. In Iraq, on the Mexican border, in New Orleans, on the Hill, and in the heartland, U.S. politics must transform into perfecting the art of the possible, for all our sakes.
