I hate to make phone calls. Especially to strangers. Especially to possible hostile undecided voter-type strangers. But that's exactly what I did. For an entire Saturday afternoon, I worked the phones at the Obama headquarters in downtown Greensboro basically cold-calling people that some database had dug up that said these people were not sure who they were going to vote for. It took a few minutes to get up the nerve to even pick up the phone and make that first call. I mean, I was now that person calling you, interrupting your football game, lunch, kid's nap, whatever to talk to you about the upcoming election. But I reminded myself about how important this election was, how much was on the line, how much I wanted to pitch in and make just a little difference. And even a little bit on the historic level of telling my son one day that I volunteered for this campaign. It was only a couple of weeks before Election Day and there was an electricity in the air everywhere you went. Finally, people were coming out of their eight-year self-induced coma and registering to vote, voting early in historic numbers even waiting for hours on end to do so, speaking out. And it was, in a word, electrifying. And polarizing.
There were three other things that helped me finally pick up that phone. One, my dad. His commitment for volunteering and helping people is inspiring. Two, I believe Obama is the best choice. And, three, because in the entire county of Guilford there were no more yard signs to be had. Nada. Zilch. Zero. And the waiting list had thousands of people on it. Myself included.
So the prize at the end of this day was my very own yard sign, as pictured. Leaving the Obama headquarters with my hard-earned yard sign, I was asked to leave by the back door, smuggle it down the alley, and try not to let others see me leaving with it.
I raced home, eager to plant that bad boy in my yard (I mean, somebody on my street had to counter my neighbor's sign for that other guy!)
Carolina is Obama country!
Fast-forward to November 5th. Of course, I woke up with a little dance in my step, so to speak, even after staying up most of the night watching the returns. Outside my window, I felt a smile creep over my face as I noticed my neighbor's sign for that other guy had already been removed. It was only six a.m. I smugly pictured neighbors tiptoeing under the cover of darkness, pulling up their signs, peeling the stickers off their car. My smugness was short-lived though. As I was backing out of my driveway, there it was. Or wasn't. My very own sign, gone. Not only gone, but ripped from its frame, leaving only the wire square that once supported it. Admittedly, I was a bit sad, then mad. But as I drove to work that day, I still felt warm and fuzzy pulling up to or passing a car still boasting their Obama support stickers, glancing at each other, and sharing a big, fat, smile.
