It's only one vote, but we've been working on Granny Peterson for six months. She is 79, sharp, kind, formidable in her opinions, and she was raised by parents who did not like blacks. They had a kind of blanket prejudice against all things and people black, and with the reasons kept to themselves, and this was ingrained in her. I suppose she has come to symbolize, for our family, the voter who has something against a certain race, because of rearing alone, and is therefore a possibility for reform. As strong as Granny Peterson's views on blacks are, we insist she is not a racist. And we are right, for she isn't. She is not a racist any more than someone raised in the Roman Catholic church and who clings throughout his life to Roman Catholic doctrine, is a religious fanatic.
She arrived last night at about eight, in her 1963 Thunderbird---she still drives, and drives this Thunderbird, one kept in mint condition by my cousin George.* Five minutes on, she asked for a bourbon, even before she'd sat down. Granny Peterson never drinks much except at big gatherings, family-type or otherwise. This one was for George's birthday and there were 28 of us crammed into his cottage in Scotland like sardines. She was given the best chair, a plate of lamb chops and roasted potatoes, and our undivided attention. For some reason, most of us felt that tonight was the night; and we had to win her over before she got crocked. But we didn't know where to begin, we've never known.
Now, by 'crocked' I don't mean falling-down-drunk, I just mean 'high', as in, say, 3 short whiskeys quickly consumed. That's when she starts telling long stories about when she and my grandfather, early in their marriage, used to hunt duck and quail, and fish for trout, over in Oregon. The stories are wonderful to listen to even if you've heard them 100 times, for she acts everything out, including the antics of the duck, quail and trout, embellishes with great imagination, and has a gift for knowing what will interest people and what won't. But you can't get her off the subject once she gets her rhythm, it could last for hours. Her happiest days were doing sporty things with my grandfather. He used to brag to my mother about what an amazing shot Granny Peterson was, her forte being a 22.
About nine, George began opening his birthday gifts, one thing he got was Obama's book "Dreams from My Father". He thanked the giver and set it down on the table piled with food and drinks. He didn't place it too near Granny Peterson, for she would guess if he did and then read him the riot act. You can't put much over on her, she's that quick and that insightful. The book was a plant, George already has it. She is an avid reader, anything with a cover and pages inbetween---and most especially biographies or autobiographies---is irresistible to her. We just hoped she'd pick it up and get interested. Up until last night she had refused to read it or read anything by Obama. And this was before the Jeremiah Wright thing. (What she had to say about that I won't repeat here. Suffice to say, Granny Peterson treated some of our family plus two neighbors, about 3 weeks ago, to an all-out rant on Obama's former pastor. At full throttle, waving her arms.)
I saw her pick up the book when we were going into the kitchen to clean up the mess, and saw her put it down again; and I just kept going, my heart pounding and my mouth the way your mouth gets when you feel like you just ate some sand. The reader might not understand what the big deal is, it's just one vote, just one elderly woman. Yes, but we adore her and respect her, her endorsement of Obama would mean everything to us. We have a saying in our family, 'being reared black', and it isn't about blacks and how they are reared, it's about whites who, like Granny Peterson, are reared by parents who for various reasons are against blacks. It means 'being reared against blacks', we just shortened it. And that's how Granny Peterson was reared, over in Utah and by strict Mormon parents. I wanted her to read that book, it might have an effect on her, might plant one or two little seeds that would start to sprout and one day bloom. I knew the odds were against it.
She left at half midnight, revving the engine, you haven't lived until you've seen the way she drives that Thunderbird. The thing is, Granny Peterson is so short, just 5'2", that when she gets behind the steering wheel, her head barely tops it; if you see her drive by and from a fair distance, it looks like a ghost car. As if there isn't anyone at the wheel. You have to be quick because she speeds. (Her late husband, my grandfather, was a speeder too; even so, he had his last driver's license renewed at the age of 91.) We waved her off, and of course she honked the horn 3 times as she took the corner, this is a ritual with her and the sleepy neighbors be damned. (They really don't mind, they all know and like my grandmother.)
When we went back inside I saw that Obama's book was missing and asked George about it; he said he didn't have a clue where it was. I couldn't imagine Granny Peterson taking it, for she has been anti-Obama practically from the day he appeared on the political horizon, and most especially in the past year.
Something happened, overnight, for about 3 hours ago, she rang me up and said she had decided in favor of 'Barack Hussein Obama'. Usually she emphasizes 'Hussein', like so many who disapprove of him do, but today she didn't. And she used the word 'endorse', as if wanting to attach all the importance to her decision that she could. For it was that important! Using a plain word like 'vote' would not convey that. Then she just said, "Tell George to do something about that hedge, it's five feet too high and hideous; if he can't afford the gardener I'll pay for it." And hung up.
She will never tell me what changed her mind. Or at least not for a long time. And if I am wise I will not bring the matter up to her. I believe she has Obama's book, and that she must have stayed up all night reading it, she's a night owl when she finds a good read. I am idealistic, but not so idealistic that I believe she read Obama's book and a miracle happened. What I believe is that she must have been changing before, gradually over time, and never went public. What amazes me is that, still having prejudice, ingrained in her from youth, she took that step. How hard it must have been!
Granny Peterson won't change her mind; she will vote Obama. But neither will she suddenly start singing his praises; she won't. She has seen Obama on television 3 or 4 times, I've been there; when she did she either acted as if he was nothing much or acted as if he was plenty that she didn't like. And I expect that to continue. Even if it is now pretence, it will continue. And to be honest, she will always have some reservations about Obama. About six months ago when Granny Peterson and some of us were watching Obama on the telly, at a rally, she summed him up this way. She said that the only remarkable thing about him, was his attitude, which she didn't like; that he strutted 'like a barnyard fowl'; that his speeches were 'insidious'; and that if he wasn't pro-muslim, neither were the Saudis.
I am joyous today! For someone reared black has, at long last, broken out. That means it's possible, and that means there might, eventually, be more. Hopefully before November.**
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* I am in earnest. We have a video of Granny Peterson getting in the Thunderbird, backing out of the driveway at high speed, and roaring up the road. But I don't even know how to get it onto the computer, let alone into a diary. I would so have loved to include it. I did find an image of a 1963 Thunderbird on Google under Images
http://cache.viewimages.com/...
The car is her pride and joy, and looks just like that image.
** In my title I say we did it, but in my heart I believe that the one who really did it is Obama.