Paul Newman and yard signs

     We're getting a short reprieve after two days of rain, so M and A took her new magnifying glass and a sketch pad out to the park to see what they might see. I'm reading about the passing of Paul Newman, as elegant and graceful a person as has ever been put on earth. I admire his life for a great many reasons, primarily his determination to just do what he did, all self-deprecating and careful to resist the ego trappings inherent in movie acting. I admire his long marriage to a woman who was clearly his equal in every way. I admire his charity work -- Newman's Own, according the the New York Times, has donated over $175 million to charitable causes, and his foundation for pediatric cancer camps has blossomed into a global effort. 

     What I admire most about him, I think, is his devotion to authenticity. There does not exist an interview in which he seems to be trying to impress. He is so completely unselfconscious that he can tell a reporter that, with age, he has *not* become what (we presume he and) the rest of us aspire to: less angry, less judgmental, etc. Certainly other people have observed -- my father among them -- that getting older not only illuminates more of our flaws, but actually exacerbates them. I know I am becoming more myself the older I get: more outspoken about what I dislike and disagree with, crankier, shorter-tempered, less willing to put up with shit. Less able to rein it in. I guess in my interior life I am becoming more authentic, but I still will say "yes" because I think it's what others want to hear, or hold my tongue in the interest of being polite when what the situation really calls for is for me to call someone on their assumptions or ugliness. A skirmish.

     All this to say, my friend Amy and I are kind of despairing of the lack of yard signs in our city this election season, and I believe I know what's going on. On the Democratic ticket we have an African American man; on the GOP, a white woman and a flailing old crank. Of the four candidates, it is considered impolite to talk about their defining characteristics, for fear of entering inadvertently into a conversation about racism, sexism, or ageism. (Or anti-intellectualism, aka stupid-as-fuckism, or religious extremism, or poor taste in hair, woops, that's sexist, God, the shit really piles up when considering SaPa). So. We know not where our neighbors stand on these candidates, because to expose our preferences in our yards is to literally stake out a dare. I dare you to tell my what you don't like about Obama. I dare you to insinuate McCain is too old. I dare you to speak the truth about Palin, a painful truth I already know, which need not be aired in polite company: that she is an embarrassment to all serious, thinking people. 

     If the tickets comprised Joe Biden, Joe Biden, Joe Biden, and Joe Biden, this town would be yard signed and bumper stickered to comic effect. We're used to talking about that kind of candidate, the one who's so familiar to us personally that it forces us to talk about the issues (but not abortion, still off-limits). 

     There seems to me a reticence in my little corner of the world to wear your politics on your sleeve this election year. It's too personally revealing, like dropping trou and flashing the neighbors, then daring them to admit they saw you do it by flashing you right back.

     It would feel really good to put up a sign. Not just supportive of my candidates, but a gesture of personal integrity. Authenticity.

     I bet Paul Newman didn't worry about yard signs. I bet he just wore a hat.