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Colorblind

November 24, 2004 By pia

When did Red become the symbol of Conservatives rather than Communism? It seems wrong somehow, however….

Tomorrow we’re going to be equally divided between Blue and Red people. (That reads like some bad sci-fi.) The Red are going to be smugly ignoring their less-than-a-mandate-victory, for about a half an hour. Then they’ll talk about it.

I’ll let them gloat. It’s probably the last time they will be able to in the next four years. They’re going to end up just as scared and sad as the rest of us. But us Blue’s will be able to think: we didn’t vote for him; we worked against him.

Before we go to the Red’s house, I’ll be at the Blue’s. At noon, we’ll listen to “Alice’s Restaurant,” and I’ll tell my niece about her grandfather who she never met and was named after. I’ll tell her about how he recorded the song and made people sit through all 20 minutes of it, and how when my parents and their friends were in Stockbridge, my dad sought out Officer Opie the only way he knew how to, by getting a parking ticket on purpose.

My sister would have told her about the Thanksgivings held in that house when we were growing up. (My sister bought my parents house.) There would be 30 to 40 people all talking all over each over; each person with his/her own opinion. It didn’t matter what subject we were supposed to be talking about. Put 35 of us in a room, and you heard 49 different opinions, and different stories. It was comforting; it was the sound of holidays at home.

Now we’ll be at the Reds where everyone has to talk in turn, and while I’ll be longing for the Thanksgivings of yesterday, I’ll look at my niece and melt. She’s what we have in common; for her we’ll become colorblind and put aside our differences or maybe even shout them out so that she can have her own memories. Different than ours; but hers to hold onto. One thing that she’ll know for sure is how much she’s loved.

Maybe people don’t have to talk on top of each other to have a Thanksgiving conversation. I wouldn’t know as I’ve never tried it. Maybe Thanksgiving could be a good holiday with just ten people at the table. Maybe.

Filed Under: my parents, New York Stories Tagged With: If I'm not Christian, am I still an American?, my parents, New York Stories

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About Me

I live in the South, not South Florida, a few blocks from the ocean, and two blocks from the main street. It's called Main Street. Amazes me too.

I'm from New York. I mostly lived in the Mid-Upper East Side, and the heart of the Upper West Side. It amazes me when people talk about how scared they were of Times Square in the 1970's and 1980's.

As my mother said: "know the streets, look out and you'll be fine."

What was scary was the invasion of the crack dens into "good buildings in good 'hoods." And the greedy landlords who did everything they could to get good tenants out of buildings.

I'm a Long Island girl, and proud of it now.
Then I hated everything about the suburbs. Yet somehow I lived in a few great Long Island Sound towns after high school.

Go to archives "August 2004" if you want to begin with the first posts.

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