“Hope,” I wrote recently in a Facebook post, “is raising its ugly head once again.”
This was in direct response to the results of Tuesday’s elections in Virginia and elsewhere which seemed to repudiate the election results of 2016. “Maybe,” I could hear Hope whisper, from the deep recess of my soul in which I had stuffed her a year ago. “Maybe there’s Hope.”
I joined Jesse Jackson’s Operation Breadbasket in 1968, and then …
That same year, I doorbelled for Bobby Kennedy, and then …
I didn’t think Ronald Reagan had the chance of a snowball in hell, and then …
I thought the rumors that we were going to invade Iraq were silly, and then …
I voted for a woman for President in 1964, (Senator Margaret Chase Smith running in the Republican Primary against Barry Goldwater), knowing there wasn’t a chance she would win, but that was okay. Someday. And then Someday came, and I voted for Hillary Clinton for President, and then …
I’ve had my Hopes dashed so many times in the past, I’m barely on speaking terms with her. I remember a time when a relationship, from which I had Hoped much, turned ugly, and I walked around muttering, “I hate Hope.” I would see happy couples here and there and snarl under my breath, “Go ahead. Smile. You’ll see.”
But now, Hope is raising her ugly head once again, trying to convince me that her bright smile isn’t really a smirk. She’s not really ugly, of course, but the most beautiful spirits can seem that way when they let you down.
Unfortunately, I’m too old to be taken in again. Fool me once, fool me a thousand times, you know you can probably fool me again. This time, I can’t be fooled.
Electing people I can believe are good for my community, for the country, is going to take more than Hope. So I’m giving up Hope, and taking up Persistence.
I hope it works.