Do you talk to people? By that I mean do you go out of your way to talk to people? It's increasingly important now in the current political climate. As a country, we've become so polarized that many people have deliberately stopped talking to one another. In my view, this is a crucial mistake. Perhaps it is a vestige of cancel culture, but, the consequences are critical.
Lately I've been watching a CNN program called "Table for Five." Journalist Abbey Phillip moderates a discussion with 5 people who for the most part, do not agree on much poliktically. A diverse group, their political leanings are easily discernable. Often they clash, talk over each other, interrupt each other and flat out call each other liars. Somehow, host Phillip gets in her qualifying comments and reels them in so they never miss a commercial break or an opportunity to shift gears onto another topic. The program always ends on a light note. The last couple of minutes are devoted to "unpopular opinions." This is when each person at the table gts about 30 seconds to complain about something or point out why something popular right now is either ridiculous, hypocritical, or just downright stupid. The table guests often end up laughing or agreeing with one another in a surprising moment of comraderie. We all leave laughing.
Most of us have a friend or family member with whom we disagree politically. On Social Media we may be "Friends" but the fact is that we don't really know each other, but if we do, chances are our political views are similar.
And then there is that one person, (perhaps maybe a few more)who we know from one part of our lives, but whose politics and values are the complete opposite of oiur own. This could be the person you might "defriend" on Facebook, or go out of your way to ignore. It's easier to tolerate them if you have minimal contact. We all have one such person hovering on the edges of our lives.
When I was a working journalist on the racetrack, a turf writer, if you will, I spent time with people whose politics were often the complete opposite of mine. We spoke about thoroughbreds, or other things we enjoyed, or places we lived, or even aspirations and goals, but never about politics. On occasion, though, our political views would seep out in conversations about seemingly unrelated things. If we followed each other on social media, other worlds were revealed.
Horse people are often complicated. People generalize about them, but if you do, you stand a good chance of commiting "Assumicide." I've been pleasantly surprised many times finding out that someone I thought may be extremely conservative or very right wing, was not. Sometinmes they are. Case in point: I formed a good friendship with a former jockey over the years. We talked mostly about his career, specific horses, trainers, races. That friendship continued on social media, and that's when I saw that we were complete opposites in our political views. He is extremely right wing and defensive about the fact that he is not college educated. I'm pretty sure he's seen my posts about current issues. I've seen his. Lots of racism, sexism, misinformation, and anti-intellectualism. Shocking? No, sad is more like it. But still no reason to stop talking.
There is a scene in a Robert Duvall film called The Apostle that comes to mind. Reminiscent of To Kill a Mockingbird a black man in a Southern town is accused of a serious crime. Duvall, playing an iterant preacher testifies on behalf of the accused. When he declares that he knows this man is innocent, the judge asks him, "How do you know this?"
The reponse is simple, "Because I've fished with him before." The implication is that when you fish with someone, you know them. The accused is aquitted.
I wish I could go fishing with my right wing jockey friend.
I'm sitting there in a hospital gown, waiting for my doctor to complete my yearly physical. This is when I look at everything on the walls, read the medical posters, the instructions on any equipment in the room, look in every corner and behind every chair. I study the paper on the examination table, laugh out loud at the picture of a smiling child holding a bouquet of broccoli, and the note the placement of the computer in the room. Finally, wondering if the gown I'm wearing is on correctly, I focus on myself. At this point in my life I'm fairly comfortable in a doctor's office. But it always seems to take so long when waiting for the doc to enter. So I fidget. Then I begin a tour of myself. Scars are tattoos. I look at the one on my knee and see myself at 12. Whittling a piece of wood with my Boy Scout jack knife. The blade slips and I cut a crescent slash through my jeans and into my flesh for life. 50 years later ...

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