There is a friend that I — no, that’s not quite right. There is a friend that I used to have. He was a “right-wing conservative” who happened to be a minority. That’s not an oxymoron, but perhaps it should be.
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We had debates that threatened to overflow into the fight zone.
“I’ve signed up to work with the Young Republicans in the area,” he proudly told me. I sniffed. There is a reason that you’re not supposed to talk politics unless you work in a politician’s office. Maybe not even then.
My eyes rolled up inside my head in that delicious way you do when you know that you are so, so right.
“What?” he said. “You think, you actually think that they’re racist?”
I abruptly dropped my head onto my chest and closed my eyes. I’m sorry. I get like that sometimes.
He hadn’t yelled, but his tone was indignant…
“Yes,” I said.
We spoke no more that day.
I was determined to never bring it up again even if someone threatened to put a red hot poker in my eye.
But it tells you something about his state of mind that he told me what happened. When he arrived that morning to join the groups that would go door-to-door to discuss the platform of the GOP, in which he was most definitely well-versed, he was firmly stopped.
“We believe you would be better suited to stay here in the office and stuff the envelopes that are going to go out to the Parish,” the Young Republican said.
“This is also very important work.”
There was no way that he was going to be allowed to darken the doorstep of their potential voters.
He did as he was told.
The very next week, I overheard his conversation with another colleague.
He had defiantly gone down to the county to switch his party membership to become an…an “Independent!”