Congress on Your Corner, Redux

My Congressman called me last night.  It was just before 9pm here in Tucson; it was approaching midnight in Washington, D.C. where he's taken up temporary residence while voting on the floor of the House of Representatives. 

 

I know him as Ron, a fellow shootee.

 

There was awe in his voice as he described himself.  He's busy and he's motivated and he's still the same Ron I know from gatherings of all of us from that day, that ill-fated Congress on Your Corner sunny Saturday morning.  We chatted about the environment vs border security and the nuance required when making such decisions and we marveled at the fact that we were having the conversation at all.  Strolling into Little Cuter's room, we laughed at how impressed I was with myself.... I must be pretty special if my Congressman calls me at home, right?  Or not, we said, in unison.

 

He's just Ron, after all.

 

In the back of my mind, I knew why he was calling.  I remembered making a large donation to our Marin Congresswoman's re-election campaign (in order to buy an autographed-by-Bill-Bradley-basketball) and finding myself on the list of calls she made, month after month, year after year, soliciting further contributions.  When I asked her if there weren't other more productive uses of her time she sighed and confessed to spending two hours every day making these kinds of calls.  It was an awful moment.

 

But, he's Ron and I like him so, of course, I'd listen to his pitch. 

 

Turns out I was wrong about his intentions.  He wasn't asking me for anything, not even my presence.  He was calling because he wanted to tell me himself before I read it in the newspaper or heard it on tv - he's coming back to the district this weekend and he's holding his first Congress on Your Corner this Saturday morning.

 

I found myself sitting on the big purple chair in Little Cuter's room.  There was a giant hole in the air.  Neither of us said a word for a while.

 

"You're not doing it there, are you?" to which he replied "Oh, no... that would be...." and neither of us could find the words for what it would be, though awful kept rattling around in my head.

 

"Will there be security?" came out of my mouth as I watched my left arm shake.  My stomach wasn't in a knot; it was rolling around from side to side.  I started pacing again as my Congressman, not much taller than I, reassured me that there would be plain clothes and uniformed security in attendance. "Big officers.... with big guns?" I wondered and he repeated it, slowly and carefully....big guys with big guns.

 

And then we were quiet again.  I was, once again, in a unique situation.  No one had prepared me for this eventuality.  I was experiencing a singularity.

 

Would you revisit an event that tore up your world?  Would anyone ask you to do so?

 

Ron, sensing my unease and being a nice man, reassured me that he held no expectations of my attendance.  He wasn't calling to invite me, though he would love to see me, Saturday or any day.  His call was to alert me so that I was not blindsided while making dinner.  He was making a lot of similar calls..... there were 19 of us who intersected with bullets that morning.  It was a gracious call, not a summons to an event.  He wanted to be sure that I was okay, even as he, himself must be dealing with many if not more or all of the same feelings.\

 

He can't hide.  He has to be available.  He's our representative and we have to be able to talk to him.  Congress on Your Corner is a great opportunity for that to happen.  Unfortunately for Ron and me, the last one we went to didn't turn out that well.

 

 

I have always said I'd take Christina-Taylor to meet her Congresswoman again, that I'd done nothing wrong, that we were in the right place at the right time and without a doubt I'd do it again. And yet now, when faced with the reality, I find that I am chickenshit. Even with security......

It's an event to which I'd take Amster's kids and Juan from Prince Elementary School and JannyLou's grandkids if they were still in town..... if I hadn't nearly died the last time I took a kid to the same event.  In my mouth and my mind, of course I'd go.  In real life......

Do I let the shooter take away my enjoyment of civic engagement in a public setting?  That's letting him win twice.

Do I purposely put myself in an anxiety provoking situation?  I could use my biofeedback techniques and practise relaxation in a stressful environment.

Do I go to support my friend at his first representation as my Representative?  Good people don't run for public office very often; what if good people don't even attend free and convenient public events, either?  What kind of statement am I making?

Will anyone but I know if I attend the event?  Will anyone else care?  It's possible that, as has happened before, strangers will approach me and tell me that they saw me on the televised coverage of the event whether I am there or not.  Big Cuter, with whom I discussed this situation last night, is trying to get his head around the fact of people remembering what could not have been. 

Do I let my fears dictate my actions?  Do I give in to the bubbles brewing in my gut as I type this post?  Do I listen to TBG when he says, not altogether facetiously, Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me.

It's awful to think this hard about attending an event which I'd normally just pencil in on my calendar, without questioning it at all. 

Eighteen months ago, I really was going to meet Gabby.  I wanted to be in her presence.  I'd voted for her and I was going to shake her hand and introduce her to a little girl who might, after she made her mark in Major League Baseball, just might follow in Congressswoman Giffords's footsepts.  I'd never done any of that before.

But, I know Ron.  I can call him at home or send him an email.  He's just Ron, after all. 

Do I have to stand in a parking lot..... can I stand in a parking lot.... can I contemplate standing in a parking lot in front of a Safeway on a sunny Saturday morning, waiting to meet my Representative? 

I just don't know