Motivation To Vote

   I hadn't been in my shop for nearly a week, yet the sweet scent of freshly cut dried oak still filled the small space. My son says it smells like popcorn. I’m not sure I get that, but I love that rich smell, thick in my nose. It’s an instant motivator for me to build things out of wood.
   I hit the automatic garage door opener, and the old door groaned and creaked reminding me that I need to put some oil on it–a project I've put off and will likely continue to postpone in favor of woodworking challenges. With the door up, the crisp, cool February air washed over me. I shivered, but I’d gotten a slow start, and the sun was already high in the sky. In a couple of hours it would be shining brightly into the shop warming it up. So I was deterred from putting the door back down and turning on my little heater. Instead, I grabbed my dirty old hoodie, shook off the sawdust and pulled it on. I was anxious to get started. I had one more solid oak gate to build—a huge southwestern style monstrosity for an adobe fence.

   I stuck my ear buds in my ears and turned on iTunes Radio. Bad Suns’ high pitched electric guitar and heavy base from “Cardiac Arrest” pounded loudly in my ears. I wasn't ready to start loud tools yet, but I put my big blue ear protection over my ear buds mostly to keep my ears warm. I set my coffee cup on the shiny steel surface of my table saw, which held a place of honor in the center of my shop, and I danced around and sang loudly with those crazy Bad Suns’ guys. “I’ll try my best, how much do I invest? Like cardiac arrest, high voltage in her lips.”
   I live at the back of a development in a cul-du-sac. Not too many people make it to the end of the lane, so I don’t normally worry about someone seeing my lack of rhythm and bad dance moves. When I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a man walking up my drive, I jumped in surprise. I’m sure I flushed red at the thought of this man watching me dance.   

   I later figured out that he was probably in his late thirties or early forties, but he had that appearance that made him look old. I call it “dad face.” I don’t know what happens to some men; they seem to go from twenty-something to fifty-something overnight. I think a lack of style contributes significantly to that effect. He was wearing a poorly-fitting off-white long sleeve shirt; the collar was like two sizes too big. He accessorized with a cheap diagonally striped red and blue tie. His tan polyester pants were a little too short, and he had on scuffed-up brown leather loafers that reminded me of something my grandpa wore when he got too old to tie his Wingtips.   

   I hate to be interrupted when I finally steal some time from real life and snuggle into the relaxation of my hobby—the high-pitched buzz of power tools, the feel of saw dust on my face and the satisfaction of building something with my hands. Complicate that by the embarrassment associated with being caught dancing around like a teenager, and I’m not a pleasant person.   

   “Hi,” the man hollered as he walked up the drive. His fake smile covered his whole face. Good thing he wasn't wearing a short sleeve shirt or I would have been looking around for the 1985 Yugo he was trying to sell me.
   “What can I do for you?” I asked. My voice was stiff and monotone. I was making every effort to make it clear I wasn't interested in whatever he was selling.
   “I’m Jim Drum. I’m running for re-election for city council in district five.” He pushed a piece of paper at me as he spoke.   

   Despite the fact that I had lived in the same house for over four years, I didn't know what district I lived in, and I had absolutely no interest at all in city politics. I looked briefly at the paper. “I don’t see your party listed here.” In hindsight, I have no idea why I asked. I didn't care; I just wanted the man to get out of my garage so I could cut large pieces of oak into smaller ones.   

   “Oh, it’s a non-patrician position,” he replied quickly.   

   “Hmmm, okay.”   

   “…but since you asked I’m a republican.”   I didn't give it much thought; I just held the paper out towards him. “I don’t often have the same social views as most republicans, so I don’t think I’m interested in supporting you.”
  He left me holding the paper, but moved closer to me. “Oh really, why? What social views do you hold?”   

   I moved to the side a bit to get my personal space back and said, “Well there’s a woman inside my house, and she’s my wife of nearly eleven years. How do you feel about gay marriage?”   

   “Oh I think it is completely wrong. My faith…”    I was done. Just like that I felt my face heat up. I interrupted, “I wish you luck with your campaign, but I can’t support you. Have a nice day.” I was standing next to my trash dumpster, and while I wanted to throw the paper in the can, I placed it on top of the stack he was holding.   

   “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not personal I just think gay marriage is hurting our society. It’s part of the deterioration of our society” 

    “How am I not supposed to take that personally?” I felt the anger building. I just wanted to make sawdust. Why? Why did he have to show up at my house uninvited today? Ever?   

   “I love all human beings so it’s not at all personal. It’s just my faith, I’m a Roman Catholic, and my religion of over two thousand years is what I believe in. Gay marriage is just not right and it is bad for our society.”   

   “So despite the fact that I’m God’s creation and I’m proud, I’m supposed to live alone and not have a family?” I could feel the vein in my temple throbbing, and I tightened my fist around the ear protection I held. I didn't want to get mad today.
   “Everyone can have friends,” he smiled his big fake grin.   

   “Are you kidding me?” I heard my voice rise, and I bounced from one foot to the other.   

   “I have no intention of disparaging anyone. I don’t hate any individual. My intention is the defense of traditional marriage and what remains of Christian civilization. As a practicing Catholic, I’m filled with compassion and pray for those who struggle against violent temptation to homosexual sin.”   

   “Okay, now you’re making me really mad. You need to leave.” I rushed forward and stood right in front of Jim Drum.   He began to back up slowly but continued to talk.

   “This is not personal. I just…”   

   “Leave now.” I moved down the driveway as he backed up.   

   “Okay.” He finally turned and headed down the sidewalk.   

   I stood watching him walk away. I felt my heart beating heavily in my chest. I shook my hands down at my side. Who the hell was this man to come on my property and tell me I’m responsible for the deterioration of our society. Seriously! In a society where the local nightly news frequently has stories of children being molested, our economy is in the toilet, drug use is at an all-time high, religious intolerance is the cause of war and terrorism and countless other issues, it amazes me that anyone spends time, energy and money to ban love.   

   It’s like, "My neighbor in Albuquerque is molesting young children, there's a meth lab across the street, we can't fund our public schools adequately, there’s not enough water in our state and I'm about to lose my job, but I don't want two nice women to put on nice clothes, say nice things to one another in front of other nice people and live happily together. It is important to me, in my life, that this not happen." I don't understand that; that logic makes no sense to me.   

   I tried turning my music back on and walking around the house, but I just felt the fire inside of me burning hotter with each step I took. When I walked back in the garage, I realized there would be no cutting wood today without the risk of cutting off an important appendage. I turned everything off and closed the big door. I marched in the house and sat down at my computer.   

   When Jules walked in still in her pajamas and saw me sitting in my chair, she knew something was wrong. You can’t live with someone for eleven years and not know immediately. “What are you doing in here? I thought you were working in the garage today.”   

   “I’m looking for a candidate for city council. We’re voting on Tuesday.”