Until recently, I’d never thought of people in terms of political affiliation.  Of course, ten years ago, “recently” meant last week.  Now, “recently” refers to any occurrence still present in my short-term memory bank.  That happened about the same time I came to think of the wraith-thin, long-haired, twenty-five-year-old in my office as a kid. 

I changed jobs ten years ago.  I spent the first day on my new job alone in the boardroom, in a leather chair, pushed up to a massive, gleaming, cherry table.  Heat from my hands left a steamy outline on its surface, a way to pass time between tests.  There were aptitude tests, and intelligence tests.  My favorite was the personality test.  Every question read like a trick question.  By the time I had filled in one circle on every line of the answer sheet, I felt sure I would be declared certifiably insane. 

Apparently, at least one of my answers gave away more than my IQ.  From day one, I’ve been labeled “The Token Democrat” 

I don’t like labels.  I don’t like labels even more than I don’t like being told what to do.  And, I really don’t like being told what to do.  My tendency in both cases is to prove the opposite of the assumption, giving little or no thought to my own best interests.  In other words, even if I had thought of myself as a Democrat, I certainly wouldn’t own up to it.  But, the truth is, I didn’t.

The truth is, I rarely give a thought to politics at any time other than a few weeks before an election, at which time I dutifully research the candidates, read the amendments, and stand in line with the other five percent of the population who give a damn.  Actually, five percent might be ambitious.  Some voters appear just a little too pleased to see “Fred” or “Ethyl” behind the folding table passing out pencils they might have pilfered from Yahtzee.  And, apparently, it’s not possible to hand out forms and pencils while reciting what amounts to two years worth of Christmas letters.

I work with CPAs, real estate investors, and mortgage brokers, self-proclaimed Republicans all…until recently.  A couple of weeks ago a real “maaaverick” of a woman attended a Sarah Palin rally and henceforth refers to herself as a Libertarian.  Her penchant for shoes rivals mine.  She’s sure to have at least one pair that will compliment a tri-cornered hat.

On Wednesday, a memo circulated about the office, detailing changes prompted by our ever-weakening economy.  This led to a discussion that, as it seems most do, turned political. 

“It’s the same way Clinton was elected.”  The speaker’s expensively sheathed legs stretched as he leaned against the corner of my cubicle.  “The economy went south under Reagan, and Clinton was elected.  The economy went south under Bush, and Obama was elected.  No matter who the Democratic candidate had been, he’d have been elected.”

“Those darned Republicans…”, I murmured, aiming a coy smile in his direction.

“Hey, Stacye!”, the Sarah Palin supporter called over the unfortunately-colored,  burlap-covered wall separating our PCs.  “Why’d Barack change his name?”

I hesitated, looking to the leaner for enlightenment.  He answered with a half smile and raised eyebrows.  We both waited.

“Before he was elected he was Barry.  Now all the sudden he’s Barack!”  She’d obviously taken notes.

“It’s a nickname.”  I failed in keeping derision from my voice.  I don’t set out to defend Democratic positions.  It’s just that I abhor inanity. 

“Well you know…”, the leaner’s voice got louder as he straightened.  Throwing both arms wide, he finished.  “It’s like a lot of people who come to this country from somewhere else.  They adopt an American name!”

A local radio station plays the sound of crickets when someone says something stupid.  I heard them then.  There was no other sound until I spoke…softly.

“You know he’s American, right?  Barack Obama was born in America.  You know that… right?”

Relief washed over me as fast as color filled his face. 

“Yeah…”, he shuffled his Italian leather loafers.  “Yeah, of course, I knew that…”  He turned towards his office.

“It was a Freudian slip!”, he called over his shoulder, composure already regained. 

The latest issue of New Yorker magazine contains an article by Jane Mayer in which she depicts Koch Industries, and specifically David and Charles Koch, as the Mad Hatter. Its tea time and Alice is drinking the Kool-Aid.    

The Koch brothers might be described as fundamentalist Libertarians, a doctrine borne out of their father’s fervent anti-communist stance.  Koch Senior made a fortune in Russian oil until Stalin kicked him out.  Following in their father’s footsteps, David and Charles preached “No Government” while Koch Industry oil refineries raked in millions in subsidies mandated under George W. Bush. 

I listen as my newly minted Libertarian office-mate encourages her friend to apply for a “handicap sticker”.

The disillusionment I feel in Barack Obama can not be overstated.  I miss the prosperity we enjoyed under Bill Clinton.  But, I know he wasn’t entirely responsible.  I am one of the few Georgians I know, including my Republican friends, who continue to support our Republican governor.  John Linder was my congressman.  We emailed, back and forth, often.  His idea for a Fair Tax was appealing if somewhat unrealistic, as presented.

I’m not a Democrat.  I’m not a Republican.  I’ve a sudden aversion to tea.  

I’m a woman.  I’m a Mom.  And. as any mother knows, not necessarily in that order. 

Ask any Mom.   

We just want what’s best for our babies.