You Watch This, Kiddo

This was originally written in the Summer of 1996, during the Democratic Convention.

It was the summer of 1968. I was poised on the threshold of the fourth grade. It was exciting - I was no longer a “little�? kid. My father said that I was “8 years old, going on 40." Perhaps because of this he decided I was old enough to watch the Democratic Convention with him. That was an exciting convention, but I don’t remember any of the speeches. I really don’t remember any of the rioting that marred and interrupted that convention. What I do remember is staying up way past my bed time.

And mostly, I remember my father.He laughed. He swore. He cheered. He leapt to his feet.

My father - cheering! Leaping to his feet! This man, a respected, dignified attorney (attorneys are dignified; lawyers are not - but that’s another story for another time), cheering and swearing and laughing and coaching the “players" on the television as if they could hear him! He is the most logical, intelligent man I have ever known. I’d seen him angry, I’d seen him argue passionately - I’d even seen him weep - he was always a sucker for Mary Poppins - but I had never seen him cheer or leap to his feet.

It was the roll call. After the nominating and seconding speeches, anticipation filled the air. You could feel it. I could feel it, and I didn’t even know what it was.

“This is it, kiddo!" he said. “This is what it’s all about. You watch this." I watched.

“Madame Chairman (even then, I wondered how you could be “madame" and “chairman" at the same time), the great state of Alabama, home of Billy Joe Bobby Sue Melonhead’s Equestrians on Ice, the only state in this great country that comes first alphabetically, (etc., . . . ad infinitum. . .) PASSES!"

My father roared with laughter. “They always do that, " he told me, one conspirator to another. I smiled, not quite getting the joke, but flattered that he thought me sophisticated enough to understand. “Oh", I sagely replied, and laughed with him.

The roll call continued. At that convention the roll call really was the deciding thing - the nomination was not a foregone conclusion as it is this year (1996.) Each state delegation had its turn to speak - and speak they did. The expounded on the unique features of their great state. They stumped for their own political candidates. They hooted and hollered and cheered. Sometimes, they argued. And, I don’t know how many times in reality, but in my memory, and in retelling around our dinner table, Alabama must have passed at least a dozen times.

Dad fought each battle with them, and kept his own running total of votes. As the roll call continued, he told me, “you see, they’re all just plain people. Like you and me." He explained the primary system and delegates to me with the passion of an armchair quarterback on Superbowl Sunday.

The totals continued to climb, and I will never forget this, when Hubert Humphrey was finally over the top, when there was no doubt that the nomination was his, Dad leapt to his feet, and cheered. If “the wave" had been invented then, he would have started one. And I was hooked. Even though I have tried to affect the jaded, cynical attitude of most of my peers, I am an unrepentant political junkie.

Like most armchair quarterbacks, Dad was secretly convinced that he could do a better job than the one he had just witnessed on TV. Not as a candidate, mind you - no. That is for politicians, and my father, honest and passionate about his integrity, never was and never will be a politican. No. My father knew in his secret heart of hearts that he could be the best delegate the Democratic Party had ever seen. (And yes, it was always the Democrats, never the Republicans.)

But he was a very busy man. With 5 children, a thriving law practice, the presidency of the local school board, and church involvement, he just didn’t have the time to get wrapped up in the party, so he went on with his life.

Every 4 years, he’d watch the convention. When I left home, first to go to college, and then to get married, we’d call each other, and watch together by telephone. (And yes, Alabama does always pass.)

Over the last 10 years, the conventions have become superfluous, self-congratulatory, over-choreographed sound bites. With the outcome decided months ahead of time, there is no real reason for the roll call. This year, Ted Koppel declared that they were not news, and left the Republican Convention early.

With all due respect to Mr. Koppel, and similar but not necessarily due, respect to my jaded peers, I disagree. The 1996 political conventions - particularly the Democratic convention - are news. Because my dad, who told me all those years ago: “This is it, kiddo," is there. (Even as I write this, I get chills.)

After years of cheering the process, and believing not necessarily in all the candidates but certainly in the system, my father is a delegate from North Carolina. I feel a sense of pride, and tell my friends: “I know you don’t want to watch it, but you might see my dad."

Tonight as I watched Vice President Al Gore speak, my mother called. She knew I’d be watching - because tonight was THE night. Tonight was the roll call. True to form Alabama passed. Because of how the vote went, the North Carolina Delegation was not polled before President Clinton was nominated. But when the Ohio delegation stood, and put Bill over the top, I cheered. I cried. I lept to my feet.

Since I originally wrote this, several conventions have passed, taking 11 years with them. My father is now watching from a different sideline, cheering the process and hobnobbing with his heroes - JFK, RFK, Martin, Adlai, Roosevelt, and the big guy himself, Jesus, who Dad assured me would be a Democrat if He had registered to vote. I’m sure Dad’s politics came from his faith - and his faith came from his politics.

Anyhow - I’m now so heavily involved in the local Democratic party that I cannot find time to stay in touch with friends and family until “after the election", yet for the past week, I've been emailing them and calling them daily to remind them that they had X- many days to register or change their registration to vote. Some of them are tired of hearing it from me. But I feel so connected to my Dad that I can almost feel his touch - and I cannot deny that I hear his voice at each local fund-raiser, at each event, telling me, “This is it, kiddo. You watch this."

Yup. Watch this Dad. You watch this.