Choices
November 2000
In her poem, "On Death, without
Exaggeration," Nobel Laureate Wislawa Szymborska ends with the
line "As far as you've come can't be undone." That line is taped
to my desk, not because I dwell on death; well, at least not after
first thing every morning, but because it makes me aware of choices
-- those I've made that "can't be undone," and those I can control.
Choice
is something more important to us than it ever was to our parents
and grandparents. They knew where they were, they knew where they
were going, they knew what they had to do. My mother never even
had to choose between butter or margarine, skim milk or homogenized.
Dinners she prepared had more to do with which foods would spoil
sooner than which foods she liked better that night.
It's not so much the many choices, per se, compared to the number
our elders faced, it's the constant need to make choices that
will definitely impact on our lives. For example, without even
a moment of time-consuming thought, I must choose to step on the
brake or step on the gas when I see a yellow caution light ahead.
I've misjudged and screeched to a halt.. Perhaps this light was
not calibrated as those before or, along with my driving instinct,
I factored in the bag of eggs on the back seat -- stopping short
was not an option.
We crack a lot of eggs making choices without judging the probable
outcome. And, there usually are at least two outcomes. One is
based on past experience (I learned stopping short will send eggs
flying) and the other involves risk (I think I can make it through
the intersection) that the cross traffic will jump the light at
the first flash of my green turning yellow.
In this week of final choice in the voting booth, I'm facing a
moral dilemma: Recently, I asked my 12-year-old granddaughter
who she would choose for President if she were old enough to vote.
Without a moment's hesitation, she said, "Who's to choose? One's
for abortion and one's for capital punishment." My first instinct
was to say, "Yes, but..." and then go on about their swearing
to uphold the Constitution and if those morally abhorrent laws
exist, we can't tear up the Constitution, we must amend it. But,
I didn't. Instead, I admired her acknowledging the sanctity of
life and said nothing to dampen her idealism.
"Who
are you going to vote for?" she asked. I told her she shed a stronger
light on my choices than I had been shining myself. I told her
George W. Bush was with the party I hoped to be in charge but
I had some reservations ... now. "Does his D.U.I. in 1976 have
anything to do with how you'll vote?" I said no, it didn't. I
thought his choice not to drink for the last dozen years was more
important than drinking too much that bicentennial summer, and
I told her that.
"So,
who are you going to vote for? You haven't told me," she nagged,
good-naturedly.
"Maggie,
that's why we have a secret ballot," I said, tousling her hair.
Now, here's the crux of my moral dilemma. I understand an eye
for an eye and a tooth for a tooth; I know capital punishment
is the law in many states and I trust it to be sanctioned only
in those cases where premeditated murder, beyond the shadow of
a doubt, is proved. I would vote against it, but I understand
the law. Do I vote for someone who would vote for it?
I must choose and my choices are not between two men. My choices
are between voting for George W. Bush whose thoughts are more
in line with my own thinking, or, voting for Pat Buchanan to send
a message.
The race is close and the Republicans really need my vote. But,
I want Maggie to know her idealism is to be admired and I also
want her to know I used my right to vote to help preserve our
Constitutional right to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."
There are those who might suggest I could lie. You know, secret
ballot, wasting a vote on Buchanan, and all that. After all, a
12-year-old just doesn't understand, they might say. Ah, but don't
sell them short, I will tell all comers. They know character when
they see it and they know a lie when they hear it.
I would like to think I have enough character not to lie. I would
also like to think the message taped to my desk is read by all
the young ones around me still to face choices, still to take
chances: "As far as you've come can't be undone."
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