Louisiana Voice

As the clock winds down to yet another Christmas, my 78^th, I got to reflecting on how much events in general and attitudes in particular have changed our perspectives over the past five years, especially the past two.

Most of all what they have done to lifelong friendships.

A president came along whose biggest achievement was to create such a polarizing force that he divided this country right down the middle – even to the point of debating the validity of concern over a virus that now has taken 800,000 American lives. (to bring that number into focus, it’s 100,000 more than the number of Americans who died in the great flu epidemic of a century ago, when there was no penicillin to fight the illness. It’s nearly 14 times as many American lives as the 58,000 we lost in Vietnam, 15 times as many as our combat deaths in World War I, and twice as many as the number of Americans who died in World War II)

Still, the debate rages between maskers and anti-maskers, between vaxxers and anti-vaxxers, between Trumpers and anti-Trumpers.

I have a friend (I’ll call him Ron, though that’s not his real name) who is very dear to me. We go back decades to when we played baseball together and when we got too old, too fat and too slow for that, slo-pitch softball. He was my best man and I was in his wedding a month later. Together, our marriages have endured 106 years – 53 years each.

He is an avid Trump supporter. I detest the man and all he stands for. Ron is a devout Christian, which poses all sorts of questions from my viewpoint as to how he could possibly support the man, who is anathematic to everything sacred and holy.

I, on the other hand, am not nearly so devout that I don’t sometimes question my faith. Yet, at the same time, I know in my heart of hearts that I am far more charitable, forgiving and understanding than Donald Trump could ever even claim to be.

Yes, I know that is pride talking and pride is supposed to be a sin. At least that’s what we’re told by our Methodist minister. Yet, we are also told to be proud of being American – and I am. So, yes, I am conflicted, just like anyone else who listens earnestly to both sides of an argument. I know I should not be judgmental. But I know I am – just like every other mortal being.

Both Ron and I are stubborn and we know we aren’t going to change the other’s mind. To resolve our political differences, we agreed not to debate. We didn’t want our beliefs to ruin a friendship the way relationships were being torpedoed across the landscape of this nation over Trump vs. anti-Trump. It just wasn’t worth destroying a friendship, we told each other, so we agreed to abstain from discussing politics altogether.

Until last July, when Ron broached the subject in one of our conversations. I fell for it and allowed myself to get pulled into a meaningless, endless debate that was certain to have but one outcome: a damaged friendship.

Ron’s calls to me came to an abrupt halt.

He’ll get over it, I figured.

But then Hurricane Ida passed almost directly over our home in Denham Springs. Houses of my neighbors were heavily damaged or even destroyed.

Well, Ron will call to see if we’re okay, I told myself.

Silence. Crickets chirping in the background.

It’s been nearly four months since Ida visited and Ron still has maintained his silence and I mine. He’s to blame and I’m to blame. Two men, allowing foolish pride to come between them – all because of petty political differences.

In a way, it’s a microcosm of what’s happened to this country. We’re split right down the middle, friend aligned against friend, family member squared off against family member. One faction screaming for the heads of Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer and the other faction demanding the indictment of the entire Trump clan. Republican vs. Democrat, liberal vs. conservative, black vs. white, with browns caught in the middle – and all of it forcing us indoors to escape a pandemic that is real or a hoax, that has claimed 800,000 lives or is no worse than the flu.

It’s Christmas, a time for reflection, a time for giving. That’s what the traditionalists tell us.

So, with that in mind, I’m taking the first step and maybe, just maybe, it can be that very tiny first step toward reconciliation for this entire crazy, mixed-up country we call America. Maybe not, but damnit it’s worth a try.

I’m calling Ron today.