As we roll toward Super Tuesday here in New York, I feel a slight pang of political guilt over my inability to pick a party and participate in the big event. The truth is, I am a political vagabond, which is probably the case for a lot of Catholics, even if they do eventually pull the trigger and align themselves with one side or the other. We just don’t fit into anyone’s preconceived notions of what a Republican or Democrat must be. Abortion and stem cells and euthanasia on one side; death penalty and war and poverty on the other.
At various times in my life, I have been a member of both major parties and a few minor ones. The Independence Party wins the award for most unusual and entertaining door-to-door visits. But mostly I have been independent (with a lowercase “i”) because I cannot pledge my allegiance to any party that doesn’t really want someone of my ilk. I know, I know. There are feminists in the Republican Party and pro-lifers in the Democratic Party, but when was the last time you heard any of them stumping for the candidates. In their respective parties, they are considered the lunatic fringe.
My husband, Dennis, was pushing for me to pick a party, any party, so that I could vote in Tuesday’s primary. A while back I requested the form necessary to re-register. I stared at the card, moved it from one pile on the kitchen counter to another, and eventually tossed it and decided I’d rather not pull a lever on Feb. 5 than identify myself with something I cannot support. I’m considering moving to New Hampshire where people like me get to vote in the primary of our choice.