During the 1996 presidential election the topic at a women’s fellowship I attended turned to politics. I could tell these woman weren’t excited about the prospect of voting for Bob Dole. One commented, “Well, I suppose Bill Clinton is good looking...”
Good looking? Clinton was a self-described “fat boy” with a good jawline and hair stylist.
In 1992, I initially supported Paul Tsongas. I voted for Clinton because of Al Gore and personal involvement in early testing of the Internet. If not for research funding provided by the Gore Bill, there probably wouldn’t be an Internet today.
My father was a scientist concerned about global warming.
Though more liberal than the women I was listening to, I was equally torn about that election. I’d heard good things about Dole, from both sides of the isle. I’m not a partisan voter in general. I’ve voted Democratic in recent years because the Republican Party has become the party that hates women and the environment, directly attacking values instilled by my parents.
Dole seemed like an exception. Though divorced, he wasn’t making Elizabeth his doormat. Pat Schroeder endorced him. The thing that bothered me about Bob Dole was his tendency to refer to himself in the third person. He seemed out of touch with himself. Forced by the far right to parrot views he didn’t share, Dole was perhaps too honest to lie convincingly.
By contrast, Clinton referred to himself in the first person. Maybe too much. But he also felt my pain. Empathy is attractive in a man.
I was a swing voter. A pollster awakened my husband and I at 6 a.m. the Saturday before the election wanting to know how I was voting.
On election morning I still hadn’t decided. I got down on my knees and prayed. “Lord, who would you choose to be the leader of a nation?”
A still small voice in my head said, “David.”
“But, Lord,” I protested, “he had all kinds of character problems.”
“He was a man after my own heart.”
I went to the polls that day and voted for Bill Clinton.
Good looking? Clinton was a self-described “fat boy” with a good jawline and hair stylist.
In 1992, I initially supported Paul Tsongas. I voted for Clinton because of Al Gore and personal involvement in early testing of the Internet. If not for research funding provided by the Gore Bill, there probably wouldn’t be an Internet today.
My father was a scientist concerned about global warming.
Though more liberal than the women I was listening to, I was equally torn about that election. I’d heard good things about Dole, from both sides of the isle. I’m not a partisan voter in general. I’ve voted Democratic in recent years because the Republican Party has become the party that hates women and the environment, directly attacking values instilled by my parents.
Dole seemed like an exception. Though divorced, he wasn’t making Elizabeth his doormat. Pat Schroeder endorced him. The thing that bothered me about Bob Dole was his tendency to refer to himself in the third person. He seemed out of touch with himself. Forced by the far right to parrot views he didn’t share, Dole was perhaps too honest to lie convincingly.
By contrast, Clinton referred to himself in the first person. Maybe too much. But he also felt my pain. Empathy is attractive in a man.
I was a swing voter. A pollster awakened my husband and I at 6 a.m. the Saturday before the election wanting to know how I was voting.
On election morning I still hadn’t decided. I got down on my knees and prayed. “Lord, who would you choose to be the leader of a nation?”
A still small voice in my head said, “David.”
“But, Lord,” I protested, “he had all kinds of character problems.”
“He was a man after my own heart.”
I went to the polls that day and voted for Bill Clinton.
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