Why I Really Left The Republican Party #MeToo

Count me too. Count me among those who have buried memories surfacing now among the bombardment of news and debate surrounding the Kavanaugh nomination. A few days ago I found it intellectually possible for that kind of memory to be recalled years later. I thought it possible to have gaps in those memories without negating their veracity. It was what I would label an intellectual exercise, somewhere along the lines of open-mindedness. Them. Not me.

Then Ford made one comment. Memory returned.

It's in bits and pieces. Some are missing. Date? I can narrow  it down to two years, those being while I attended Hamline University. Event? A political convention, aimed at Young Republicans.  Location? Some local high class motel, a place where individual topics and networking happened in scattered rooms. The people? Not sure I ever knew. I sure don't now, 60 years later. Except for a passing desire to kick a few sets of nuts, I don't care.

I grew up Republican. It was Ike's party, and our family was proud of my dad's service in WWII, in the European theater, under his leadership. Back then, this was all we needed to know. We were loyal Republicans. It was all one.

I'd never been politically active. As voting age hadn't changed yet, until the uproar over Viet Nam pushed lowering it from 21 to 18 ("We can get drafted and killed but we can't vote!"), I still couldn't even vote. Whatever was going on, it was somebody else's problem. Going to a political convention wasn't on my radar. I was simply a student, doing student things, just getting away from home for longer than a week-long summer church camp for the first time. In today's terms, I wasn't yet woke.

When I got invited to the convention, my first reaction was to reject the idea. After all, what could I contribute? How did I qualify? I didn't even have the justification of being attracted to the young man pushing me to go. But after his insistence that my presence there was appropriate, I let myself finally be persuaded by his assurance that I could learn stuff and "It'll be fun."

Politically, my memories were of being bored, uninformed, watching a lot of glad-handing, and still feeling out of place. I wasn't one of these people, but just observing from some outer ring. Big social gatherings have never been my idea of a good time. My hopes of interesting policy discussions did not seem to be on anybody else's agenda, despite the alleged point of the whole event. So, not fun after all.

From my perspective, the one good point was the availability of snacks pretty much everywhere.  Those who know me will not be surprised.

There was also alcohol.

Having grown up in an essentially teetotaling family, I'd had perhaps a single sip of beer before leaving home. Mom used it in making batter for deep-frying fish and onion rings. There was always about an ounce left in the can, usually going to Daddy. I was allowed to try it once. I hadn't been impressed. Still aren't. Now away from home, I was discovering things never offered  by my parents. Things like new ideas, mushrooms not in a Campbells soup can, seafood, beef not cooked to death, meals that didn't include boiled potatoes for every supper. And alcohol.

Someone, somewhere had introduced me to the concept that there were other, better flavored varieties of the stuff. I was gingerly experimenting. Most of it was still crap, as far as I was concerned, but I was still optimistic enough to try a sip or two of this or that. Not liking the flavor, I can confidently assure you I wasn't drunk, or even barely to the point of tipsy. But I probably had a few swallows.

They were offered to my by a guy, of course. In one of those rooms -where else? - which had quickly cleared out except for the two of us after whatever excuse for an event had finished. I was still way too naive to figure out what might have meant to the guy. Just not on my radar. Did I mention I was naive?

Suddenly I was lying on the bed, my companion on top of me, doing something that years later I came to understand was dry humping. It had just barely started, leaving me no time to push the bastard off me, before he was interrupted by a couple of his cohorts reentering the room, taking in his activity in a glance, and laughingly congratulating him on his supposed "scoring".

He didn't say anything to disabuse them of their notions with voicing any facts, just basked in their praise. So far as I was concerned, nothing remotely close to sex had occurred, and I was offended by his letting them think it had. It was just rude. I left the room, and the convention, immediately. If this was what young Republicans were, I wasn't nor ever would be one of them. I can only presume they joined the hordes of males now running the party. (I interject: does this mean their party platform has a mattress on it?)

By now you may be wondering why this memory resurfaced as a result of listening to the Kavanaugh hearings. What exactly triggered it? My details aren't her details, after all.

It was hearing Dr. Ford describing the indelible memory of the boys laughing together while assualting her, having a good time at her expense.

I too heard that laughter.