I almost became a flake this weekend.
You do know what I mean by "flake," right?
A flake is that person who, after signing up to volunteer for a campaign ("I'd love to canvass the next four weekends!"), doesn't show, either because they are tired or think they have better things to do, or lack the enthusiasm they once had, or--and this is the worst--they think the election is in the bag, and they aren't needed anymore. They flake out. Nate Silver at the inestimable fivethirtyeight.com wrote about it recently, and how it can almost sink campaigns..
I was this close to flaking out on Obama by visiting my mother.
Who is now very, very, very disappointed she won't see me, my wife, or the grandkids this weekend.
Please help me apologize to her over the fold. I really need your help on this one.
My mother. God love her. The undisputed heavyweight champion of the world when it comes to Catholic guilt. "You'll miss me when I'm gone," is a standard refrain. I'm not kidding. It's usually said with a sad little sigh on the end. "Just be sure to bury me somewhere nice. That's all I want, really. Just that and flowers on my grave for Mother's Day. Siiiigh."
Those of you who know what I am talking about, know what I'm talking about.
This weekend is my 20th High School Reunion in Virginia Beach, where my parents live. So, months ago my mother saw an opportunity and decided that the whole family would travel to Virginia Beach, go see the old high school gang, then visit the parents for the weekend. It was going to be really nice, very relaxing, and fun.
And my mother was really looking forward to it. She talked about it for weeks. She even went and bought a Fudgey the Whale for the kids. I mean, this was BIG.
One weekend away from the campaign, I thought. What's it going to matter, me being there? Besides, we have this thing locked up for the most part, I told myself. The justifications kept mounting as this weekend approached.
Then I got a call from the campaign. "Can we count on you to help us out this weekend?" the campaign asked.
I told them the truth, that I had to visit my mother. That my reunion was this weekend. I sounded contrite, and sheepish. The very polite and understanding woman on the line thanked me anyway. No sigh.
Then I read Nate Silver's article, and guilt crashed down upon me with all the weight of the moon and the stars. Insomnia followed. Snapping at my kids. Projection. Recrimination. Self-loathing.
I couldn't take it.
This is the conversation I had with my mother yesterday. Paraphrased except where otherwise noted:
(Phone ringing)
Mom: Hello?
Me: Mom, it's me.
Mom: Oh, I was just thinking about you. I put the Fudgey the Whale in the freezer, and your father is going to get some steaks from the Commisary, and i got some late season corn, and what time are you guys getting here? We are just so very, very excited.
Me: Mom, I have bad news.
Mom; (Pause) Go on.
Me: Mom, I got a call from the campaign. They need me this weekend.
Mom: (Silence)
Me: I talked about it with [the wife], and we both agree that with the election two weeks away, I need to stay and work. I'm really sorry, and we are going to make it up to you the weekend after the election, I swear.
Mom: (Long pause) This is very disappointing.
Me: (Wounded, but still standing. The game is afoot.) I understand you are disappointed, Mom.
Mom: Your father will be crushed.
Me: (Undeterred) Well played. But it's just two weeks.
Mom: You know, I haven't been feeling well...
Me: Nice parry.
Mom: ...and I have this little cough. Cough, cough.
Me: Shields are at maximum, Mom. You have to do better than that.
Mom; You'll miss your reunion.
Me: I understand that a 20 year reunion is underwhelming. It's like everyone is just the same, except they swelled. I'll live.
Mom: (Going all out) I really did want to see the kids. My precious, precious grandchildren. Who i never see. We got them their favorite, you know...
Me: I will not be bowed, mother.
Mom: [Ed. the following is an actual quote] (Long pause) Well, I want an apology from the Obama campaign for missing this weekend.
Me: Wha-huh?
Mom: If he needs you so bad, they can apologize to me. [Note: I am not making this up].
Me: Mom, I can't get an apology from the Obama campaign.
Mom; Well, I want someone to apologize. I mean, honestly. It's my grandkids!
Me: I will see what I can do, Mom. I promise.
Mom: Don't call again until I get an apology from someone. I'm serious. [Note: Again, an actual quote]
Me: I'll try and get something.
Mom: Well, alright. I love you, dear.
Me: I know you think you do.
I can live without going to the reunion, or watching football, to canvass. Our time is now, and this is the moment, this is the time.
But man do I hate disappointing Mom.
So please, help me fulfill my promise. If you will write an apology in the comments, and tell her how much this means, not just to a campaign, but to her and--more importantly--to her grandchildren, I would appreciate it.
We all must do our part. All of us. All of us.
If I can incur the wrath of Mom, you can get your ass in gear, too.
We cannot flake. We must not flake.
I'm not going to. The battle is not won yet.
Join us.