Today, I spent three hours campaigning in the Palo Alto region for the California Democratic Party. While I had one of my posters ripped in half in front of me, an old geezer threatened to call the cops, and countless people slammed doors in my face or threatened to sic a dog on me, I also met an extraordinary woman who has been campaigning for the Democrats since the age 10, in the 1960 election, some really cute kids, more people than I can remember who praised me for doing my civic duty/ being different from other teens, and one very special father.
The only thing the very friendly, very smiley young man at the Democratic Party headquarters in Palo Alto did was give me a clipboard and some flyers, read me the script, and told me to be friendly and smile. Three problems. I hate clipboards, scripts, and generally being pleasant. All the same, I nodded, forced a grimace to look like a smile, grabbed the clipboard, and headed out to the car with my sister.
We parked in the shade of Bryant Street, promised to meet three hours later, at 3:15, and headed off in our opposite ways. My first house was, thankfully, empty, so I stuck some pamphlets into their mailbox and moved onto the next house. This was easy. Even I could manage this. The next house had actual people, a very charming older woman, who was more than happy to tell me that yes, she was planning on voting and would be going to the polls come November 2nd. I nodded, said the word um a lot, and ended up just giving her a thumb's up. Maybe I should just stick to the empty houses.
A few houses later, I knocked on a door. My list said a young man, only 22, was living there. The guy who opened the door was closer to sixty.
Smiling, I stuck my hand out and said, "Hi. I'm Catherine Rosch, and I'm with the California Democratic Party." The guy just stared at my hand and then at me. "You'll be wanting my son." "Oh. Ok. Where is he?""UCLA." "Do you know if he intends to vote?" Voice heavy with sarcasm and disgust. "Oh, yes." "Can you remind him to vote Democrat?" Even more sarcastic, if possible. "Trust me, he's not voting for Meg. He'll be voting with precious Jerry, Barbara, Gavin, and Kamala." He took one of my flyers, ripped it in half, and slammed the door in my face. As I walked away, I saw that is car had a McCain and Whitman bumper stick. Being mature, I kicked his mailbox and flipped off his front door.
After walking to an apartment complex (NB: apartment complexes are horrible, since you can only talk to registered Democrats. I wasted fifteen minutes wandering down halls and staircases), I walked along Alma to the area just before San Antonio Road. It's a pretty area, mostly retirees and young families. Thankfully, most people over 60 tend to either be out of the house or not answer the door, so I was able to mostly avoid talking to other humans.
At a small, charming blue house, an older woman opened the door. I gave my litte "Hi, I'm Catherine Rosch and I'm representing the California Democratic Party. are you planning on voting on November 2nd?" speech, she smiled and nodded. "It's so nice to see young people out on the street. How old are you?" "Sixteen." "But you can't vote yet." "I care about the future of this state, ma'am. Let's keep it blue." "Let's keep it blue indeed."
Not all retirees who answer their doors are as friendly. A good number looked at me and just slammed the door in my face, so I got pretty good at sticking my foot in the door frame. At least three people let their dogs on me, so while I was not bitten, I got jumped on, growled at, and dropped my clipboard, which in turn scattered all my pamphlets. Try picking up one hundred loose pieces of paper with a cranky man standing over you and a dog running in circles. One woman told me she no longer was a Democrat because "Snot-nosed kids like you have taken over the party." Huh. Another guy asked me to explain why I supported Prop 19, which I did quite nicely. After I had finished, he called me a pot head, even though I made it clear I'm probably the most straight edge kid in the Bay Area.
Nothing will compare to the friendly old geezer I met. Picture me, a somewhat charming teenage girl, knocking on a door, smile plastered on my face. Now, picture an old geezer, with his false teeth, paunchy belly, and hideous sweater, opening the door. "Hi I'm Catherine Rosch. I'm with the California Democratic Party." "I'm calling the police." What? I stared at him, confused. Why was he calling the police? There were no anti-solicitor or no trespassing signs. The house was on my list. He picked up the phone, dialed 911, hit send. I took off. Lets just say, I did not know I could run so fast, or vault a two foot fence with thorny rose bushes so well while carrying a clipboard under my arm.
My other favorite oldie was an elderly woman. After my little speech, she smiled and told me to hold on a minute. She went back inside, and I groaned. Yet another door slam. However, a minute later, she came back out with an icy water bottle, which she handed to me. We ended up talking, her standing in the doorway, me with my clipboard resting on my hip. She told me that she had campaigned for Democrats every single year since 1960, when she was 10, and she was going to get out to as she put it "rock the vote" the next weekend. I couldn't do much more than shake her hand and tell her how admirable that was. What else could I say?
After two and a half hours, I was exhausted. Try walking around in old Converse for several hours, without sitting down the whole time, in blue jeans when it's 80 out, and your white v-neck is sticking to you, sweat soaked, hair falling out of your ponytail. I bought a glass of what was supposedly lemonade but was actually water with no lemon or sugar what so ever from three little girls, knocked on a few doors, delivered pamphlets, posters, and flyers, and waited for it to be time to go back. At last, I reached my last house on my list. It was cute, with a big tree on the front lawn, so I went over and sat under the tree.
Once I could stand up again without feeling light-headed, I went up to the door and knocked. A man opened the door, holding a little boy no older than five on his hip. He wore no wedding ring. I introduced myself. "Just come in." He moved to the side, letting me in. "Sorry if it's a little messy. i'm making a snack for this one." He ruffled the little boy's hair. The little boy just looked at me. I looked back. "Are you planning on voting in the November 2nd election?" "No. Probably not. What's the point?" "If I can convince you to, will you?" "Go ahead."
He showed me into the kitchen, cleared a chair off, and cut up some apples and rinsed off blackberries. I took a slice. California apples are perfectly crisp in October. The man pored two glasses of milk, one for the boy, one for me. The boy climbed up on a chair and started to eat, watching me carefully.
To be honest, I don't remember what I said. It felt like hours, but was probably only fifteen minutes. I started by talking about why I'm a Democrat, my hopes for the country, the 2008 election. And then, I just moved on to the Tea Party, how I hate them and how I'm scared of them, scared of the Republican establishment, how they don't care much for the middle class, for real America. I spoke, he listened. We talked about Prop 8, how he had voted No on it, and how that hadn't made a difference, Obama, Sarah Palin, Arizona, just a lot. He said he was one man. He couldn't make a difference. I looked over at his son.
"Look at your son. He is going to inherit everything that's going on right now. Do you really want him inheriting Whitman's deficit, Cooley's bigger prisons and loose gun control laws, Fiorina's outsourcing, no more global warming prevention in California, no more national parks? Don't you want him to have a quality education, decent health care, full civil rights, no war? You want that, don't you? A safe, good life for your son? If you really want that, you would go out and vote."
The man looked at me, tears in his eyes, and looked at his little boy. The boy was now coloring on a newspaper. He looked back up at me. "I can find my local polling place online, right?"