Monday, November 10, 2008
Proud again to be an American
Ray Stubblefield
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From the RoundTable blog
When I got up that morning, it was gray and drizzly. The ground was wet, but just barely, and it was obvious that the sun wasn't going to make even a brief appearance. The leaves were just a little past their peak, but still brilliant. In the last couple of days, they had started to fall fast and plastered the driveway as I drove out, my wipers set on intermittent to handle the mist.
A melancholy hung in the air, but sometimes I like days like these. They can put me in a pensive, introspective mood. And that can be a good thing. Most of the time we're so busy, we can't hear the voices around us, let alone our own.
I had David Lanz on the stereo, playing his melodic piano piece, "Cirstofori's Dream." The music matched the weather and my mood perfectly.
For 20 years I was a faithful listener of NPR's "Morning Edition" and "All Things Considered," but a few years back I stopped, just like that. My head was being filled with all these facts and interesting tidbits of information, but my soul and psyche withered under the burden of the global news, most of it bad.
Balance. I needed balance in my life. So one day I just turned off the noise, and I've never looked back. Now I get my news in measured doses, usually from the Internet. Not what traditional news outlets like this one want to hear. Am I dumber? Probably, but I have more peace in my life.
This was not a typical Tuesday. This was Election Day Tuesday. And not just any Election Day Tuesday. This would be the most historic election in the history of this nation. But none of that changed my surroundings or my circumstances. Life went on pretty much as usual.
My daughter and her friends ride to school with me each morning. But the kids had off, so my truck and classroom would be empty. It was a nice change. One I needed.
I vote at Snow Creek Rescue Squad. It's a small, modest white building surrounded by some of the most beautiful land on the planet. As I drove past neatly tended farms and homes, I saw rolls of hay ready for the barn and poplar and maple trees burned yellow and red in yards and pastures all along the way. It is November. Fall is ending and winter not far away.
This is a land where some of the farms go back generations. A land where people work hard and play by the rules. It is also Republican country, and I knew I would be in the minority when I voted.
But that's nothing new. I've never been quite in step here. Even though I've lived in this area for 16 years, I'll never be considered a native. Heck, I'm not even a native Virginian. So after all this time, I still marvel at the rural country accent that is unique to this area. It's such a slow, easy, gentle accent, just like the land and the people it comes from.
Sometimes I imagine going back in time, sitting around a campfire, surrounded by young soldiers in the Confederate army. Drinking coffee from tin cups and talking about the war and home. And I realize that the accent they have is identical to the one I hear each day.
I arrived at the rescue squad early, 6:50, and there was a small line. The lady ahead of me talked of her son who has just finished his basic training. I can relate. I have a son and son-in-law in the Army.
Jimmy Cannoy greeted me like he does every Election Day. He's a volunteer poll worker and retired teacher I worked with years ago.
This is the only time I see Jimmy, unless I run into him at Wal-Mart. It's always good to see his wide, friendly smile as he jokes with me and asks me when I can retire. "You'll love it," he says. And I know he's right.
I'm in and out in five minutes and walk back to my truck in the rain. I've just made history, I think to myself. I've voted for the first black presidential nominee of a major party in U.S. history, but I wouldn't know the outcome until later that night.
At 11:30 I dragged myself out of bed to see the election results. It's already decided. Obama has won! The camera shows a close up of Jesse Jackson with tears streaming down his face, and I have to wipe away a few tears of my own. After all these years, I'm finally proud to be an American again.
Stubblefield, who teaches earth science at Franklin County High School, is a Roanoke Times columnist.
