His office is quite different from my father’s. In the center of the room is a large round table and the desk and other chairs reside in the corner. There is a large painting of Kucinich and his absolutely gorgeous wife, framed inspirational quotes about life and leadership, and different framed pictures from his travels and time as a congressman.
We sit down, and I thank him for taking the time out of his schedule to talk to me.
“I admire your dad,” he says with a smile. “And I feel that we have a congressional family here and you’re entitled to meet with anybody you want to meet with.”
I swear my jaw drops to the floor, like some animated character in a cartoon. What is he talking about “congressional family”?! We hate each other—what about partisanship?! We sit at the table and proceed to have a
forty-five minute
conversation about politics, the media, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, religion, life, love, what’s wrong with America, and how we can fix it. When I say this man is open and engaging, let me put it to you this way: I am as jaded as it comes to meeting politicians, and this man proceeds to move me with the way he speaks about being a congressman and his love for
the country. His perspective on the direction America should take is almost the polar opposite of mine, but he seems genuine and passionate in his convictions.
During the course of this conversation, Congressman Kucinich almost makes me cry. He talks about how much he loves this country, how much he loves his wife and how grateful he is to have her in his life, how sick he is of the partisanship and toxic climate in Washington, DC, and how he worries about this country and takes the worries of the American people to bed with him at night. I would describe hearing Dennis Kucinich speak to us in this context as infectious. I don’t agree with what he is saying, but I feel an appreciation for his genuineness.
“Do you know that Katy Perry song ‘Firework,’ Meghan?” he leans over and asks me.
“Yes, of course, sir, I love that song.”
“Well, that’s what I’m like when I wake up in the morning. I’m a firework! I get up and I can’t contain myself from all the things I want to do and change.”
I want to start singing “Firework” with the congressman, but think that might be inappropriate. I just find our conversation unbelievably refreshing. I start wondering why the hell Kucinich has not been able to catch on nationally in a more significant way. Even if his policies are too liberal for me, which of course they are, his attitude and zest for life and politics are engaging. I cannot help but love him.
The congressman continues to go into great detail about how much he respects my father and the time he toured my father’s prison cell in North Vietnam. He talks about how he got emotional when he was there and that he “actually walked away understanding why Senator McCain could become president of the United States.” I am not an overly emotional person, but I feel incredibly endeared towards Congressman Kucinich when he says that.
Congressman Kucinich wakes up every day with a positive attitude about his life, his wife, politics, this country, and wanting to
bridge the divide in Washington, DC. I have been preaching that we have to close this divide in our country right now, and it’s amazing and fantastically serendipitous to meet someone who is actually holding office that preaches a message of even more inclusion than I have been. Not only does Congressman Kucinich say this, but he seems to be living it.
We wind down the conversation and shake hands goodbye. No one will ever hear me say a negative word about this man. Politics aside, I believe that Dennis Kucinich is a good man who genuinely wants what he believes to be the best things for America. He is a living example of an antidote to the problems in politics right now.
After we leave his office, both Stephie and Michael look equally stunned.
“Okay, how fantastic was he?” I ask.
“I know! I almost started crying!” Stephie says. “I mean, he preaches my language anyway because I am liberal, but how inspiring.”
Even Michael looks moved. It didn’t really matter that we didn’t get to meet with ten congressmen, because that meeting with Dennis Kucinich was plenty.
Michael:
When we return to Senator McCain’s office to head out for dinner, we tell him that we’ve just been to see Representative Kucinich. A slight smile plays on his face and he says, “Good man.”
McCain’s office has made reservations at a fancy steak house, the kind of place I always imagined that politicos go to eat. He grouses about the restaurant as we drive there in his (American made) car, but when we arrive, his countenance changes and I see him step into his public self.
When pundits describe certain politicians as “rock stars,” I always think they’re exaggerating, but here in Washington, DC, with Senator John McCain I honestly feel as if I am with rock ‘n’ roll royalty. People fall over themselves when he approaches. “After you, Senator.” “Right this way, Senator.” “Can I get a picture, Senator?”
He’s gracious with everybody, shaking hands, patting backs, taking photos. People love this guy. Seeing him like this, I do too.
The maître d’ leads us to a private room at the back of the restaurant and deposits us at a table. Meghan apologizes to her dad for having to come to this restaurant. She knows he hates it, but it seemed like the best choice given the timing and location. She doesn’t realize the manager is standing right there.
When she looks up, her cheeks turn scarlet. Senator McCain chokes back a smile. The manager pretends he didn’t hear anything. I want to hide under the table. But that would be weird because the senator’s feet are right there.
“Is Lindsey coming?” Meghan asks.
“Yeah. He should be here,” responds the senator.
“Lindsey” is Lindsey Graham, Republican senator from South Carolina. He, Senator McCain, and Senator Joe Lieberman are senatorial BFFs, often hanging out together. Senator Graham is supposed to be joining us for dinner, which I think will be good because Senator McCain and I have nothing to talk about.
We study the menus for a while and listen as he describes some of the senatorial machinations occurring regarding the debt ceiling. To my ears, it sounds like a big clusterfuck. He doesn’t use that word, although in retrospect it would have been awesome if he had.
Senator Graham arrives a few minutes later, with apologies. I remember him chiefly from his time as Grand Inquisitor during the Clinton impeachment trial. (I’m not sure “Grand Inquisitor” is the correct title, but it was something like that.) As such I am predisposed towards thinking of him as a supercilious right-wing blowhard. I am not prepared, however, for my actual reaction, which is to absolutely love the guy. He is, and I can think of no better way to describe him, a hoot. The guy is just funny: deadpan and sarcastic. Within moments of his arrival, all of us are laughing. Whatever tension existed before evaporates as the senior senator from South Carolina cracks wise about the debt ceiling and Social Security and various political arcana. He asks about the book, about me, and
promises to watch my upcoming stand-up special on Comedy Central.
“You’re not going to watch,” I say.
“Nah, I won’t,” he agrees.
The meal turns out to be pretty fun. I just kind of sit back and watch the two senators talk shop. The deeper I get into politics, and the closer I get to politicians, the more I learn something surprising and a little bit startling. I had always assumed that politicians, especially elite politicians like these guys, are operating off different information from everybody else, that the news that we get is only the tip of the iceberg in terms of what is actually happening out there, and that guys like this are making their decisions based not on what is reported in the news, but what
isn’t
reported in the news. This is, yes, conspiracy minded on my part, but I am a guy who is still undecided about Bigfoot, so I am susceptible to conspiracies.
But what I am learning is that, for the most part, politicians operate off the same imperfect information everybody has. The first inkling I got of this was when talking to Meghan’s mom back in Arizona. Her arguments to me in private were the same as the ones I hear in public. The same as I hear on Fox and MSNBC. This is also true when I hear Senators McCain and Graham gossiping. Yes, there’s a little inside baseball going on, but for the most part, the stuff they’re talking about is no different from anything you could read in any major newspaper. Even Representative Kucinich threw me for a loop when we asked him about Iraq.
Why did he think we went there, I asked.
“Oil,” he said like a true lib.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Right out of the pages of
Mother Jones.
In a way, I am heartened to learn that the information I have as a citizen is largely similar to the information our representatives are using to determine policy, but in a way it’s also scary because it
implies that there is no fundamental truth out there, that oftentimes both sides have equal claims to their positions, that people are making the best judgment calls they can, and that nobody knows what the hell is actually going on.
A young man sticks his head into the doorway of our dining room.
“Senator McCain?” he says.
Meghan’s dad looks up at him.
Our waiter tries to usher the young man out, but the senator tells him to let him enter. The young man says he’s a soldier, back from Iraq, and he wanted to say hello and thank the senator for supporting the military. Senator McCain rises and thanks the young man in turn for his service. They shake hands. The waiter takes their picture and the young soldier departs. Before he does, though, Senator McCain wishes him well and thanks him again. It’s not platitudes with him. He means it. One look at him is all you need to know that he means it. I am reminded once again of Meghan’s passion for the military, for military culture, for her family’s long history of service to the country. Cynicism is not possible in moments like these.
Meghan:
For most of the dinner, we talk politics, or really, Dad and Lindsey start talking heavy politics about the debt ceiling. The most entertaining part of the entire thing is the look on Michael’s face: he is absolutely mesmerized. It makes me happy to see that Michael is interested and seems to be enjoying himself. It’s easy for me to sometimes forget how fascinating politicians are—I mean the debt ceiling crisis is going on and Lindsey and my father are discussing the future of what is going to happen and their roles in it. It doesn’t get much more inside baseball than this moment, right here. It feels strange to be having dinner with my father, Lindsey, Michael, and Stephie, and a part of me just wants to get it over with since . . . well, my father and Michael don’t seem to be exactly bonding. I have a moment where I think,
This is it, Michael, this is a lot of what my life has been like.
When we finish dinner, my father is absolutely mobbed on our way out of the restaurant. We say our goodbyes, my father gives me a big hug, and says goodbye to Michael and Stephie.
Right as we are leaving, Stephie says, “It’s an honor having dinner with you, Senator, and thank you for your daughter. I love her.”
Michael immediately interjects with, “Yes, me too.”
Michael:
Meghan gives her dad a big hug. It’s clear she idolizes him, and his affection for her is obvious too, never more so than when she blurted out her faux pas about the restaurant. He looked so mischievous in that moment, like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. As they say goodbye I am filled with affection for them both, father and daughter bidding each other good night. The car comes and he shakes my hand, wishing us well with our project. As he drives away, I am positive he still has no idea who I am.
We’ve got one more meeting tonight, an after-dinner get-together with the Log Cabin Republicans. If there is one group in Washington who gets zero respect from anybody, it’s them. The Democrats can’t understand why any group of homosexuals would align themselves with the Republican Party, the party of (among others) Rick “If the Supreme Court says that you have the right to consensual [gay] sex within your home, then you have the right to bigamy, you have the right to polygamy, you have the right to incest” Santorum and Michele “If you’re involved in the gay and lesbian lifestyle, it’s bondage; it is personal bondage, personal despair and personal enslavement” Bachmann. As for Republicans, many of them won’t even accept campaign contributions from the Log Cabin Republicans, which is the equivalent of Bill Clinton refusing a blow job.
And yet they persist. Meghan, of course, has connections to them because she is one of the few outspoken prominent Republicans advocating for gay marriage. In fact, she might be the only one. As I’ve mentioned, I grew up in a lesbian household, so this issue is personal for me.
We assemble at some out-of-the-way restaurant-bar, and it doesn’t occur to me until much later that perhaps the reason we met at this dead spot is because they do not want to be seen together. I really hope I am wrong about this, but DC is filled with hip and happening nightspots where people come to see and be seen, and this empty, backwater bar is not one of them.
There are maybe a dozen people there, ten men and a woman. We take a private room in the back and assemble chairs into a circle. Every member here is successful, young, Republican, and gay. One person works on the House Energy and Commerce Committee, another works for Citizens Against Government Waste, several are congressional staffers. These are serious people. It seems like such a shame to me that I even have to make the point that they are serious people, but to outsiders like me, it’s difficult to imagine how they reconcile their sexuality with their political affiliation. It’s a question they’re used to, the “self-loathing question,” as Meghan puts it.
One guy says people who think they must be self-loathing because they are Republican gays have it exactly backwards. “My Republican friends are a lot better with me being gay than my gay friends are with me being a Republican.”