Vanity Fairest

That’s it. Hell has frozen over. Pigs are flying by my window. Molly is going to become a trained guide dog, the Bears are going to win the Superbowl, and Barack Obama is going to win the presidency. I am absolutely sure of it.

You see, this weekend, my father and I were engaged in another one of our political debates, during which he likes to deliver any number of salacious, below-the-belt zingers designed to get me to leap out of my chair and storm out in a huff.

The conversation hadn’t yet hit a fever pitch — meaning Dad was still playing fair, most probably because Rob was present and participating (Dad only likes to make girls cry) — when my father made a series of statements that quite literally knocked my poor mother out of her chair.

First, he conceded that John McCain is far too old and bat-shit insane to be president. Then he said he just couldn’t bring himself to vote for a McCain-Palin ticket, and that, come November 4, he might commit the ultimate sacrilege for a man who never misses an opportunity to voice his opinion: He might not vote at all. 

And just before we thought the world we as knew it had completely unravelled, my father uttered ten of the nicest words he has ever said to me:

“I’m not saying Obama isn’t going to get my vote.”

(It was at this point that we had to get the smelling salts for my mom.)

This is a man who has never remotely considered agreeing with anything any Democrat had to say. My dad pulled himself up by his boot straps and expects everyone else to, too — without the help of his tax dollars, damn it!

This is a card-carrying member of the NRA, who thinks he should be armed for protection at all times, even for a trip to the suburban hardware store. This is an avid hunter who insists on wearing a blaze orange hat all winter (again, in the middle of the suburbs) and thinks our family pet (a hunting dog, of course) should have a matching blaze orange collar. This is a man who, at any given time, owns no fewer than three gas-guzzling outdoor recreational vehicles, which he tows behind his Ford F150 pickup truck.

Barring that crazy talk about dinosaurs and humans walking among each other, my dad is practically Sarah Palin. If you told me he was the one yelling “terrorist!” from the audience at the Palin rally last week, I’d have believed you in a heartbeat.

My father voted for George W. Bush TWICE. The only time I ever saw him and my mom fight was during the 1988 election, when Dad pasted a “DEFEND FIREARMS. DEFEAT DUKAKIS” bumper sticker on our refrigerator. To this day — for the sake of their marriage, I imagine — my parents do not discuss their politics with each other.

So you see, if this man is remotely considering not voting for McCain, or even refusing to vote at all, then so, too, are independents and undecideds and disgruntled conservatives across the country. And if my dad might actually vote for Barack Obama, so might millions of others who never thought they’d see the day when a black man won the presidency — let alone that they would be the ones to help make it happen.