Just to give the readers a little “flavor” of my life, I’d like to share some stories that should give you some insight into my persona and the events that have helped to shape my beliefs.
Bill Cox was an extraordinary man of ordinary means, and although he passed several years ago he is still missed. You see, “Paw-Paw” was my grandfather – a man among men, like no other I’ve known. To this day, I have a soft spot in my heart for the elders that helped build this great country, feed the world, and stave off tyranny at every turn.
Long before I reached puberty, Paw-Paw started teaching me some valuable life lessons, but he had an extraordinary, most subtle way of doing it. He’d wake me up around daybreak so we could eat a hearty breakfast before climbing into the El Camino for a long day of back-breaking work on the farm. “Paw-Paw” never asked me to do anything he hadn’t already done before, but he sure worked me like a rented mule on many occasions !
The Cox family farm in the mid-1960’s consisted mainly of cotton, wheat and soybeans – seven square miles of it ! It was my job to rid the fields of as many pesky weeds as possible, for they consumed precious water and nutrients needed for the crops. With that in mind, Paw-Paw would drive me to the edge of a field, drop the tailgate on that El Camino, and pull a big file from his toolbox to sharpen the hoe I’d be using all day. “A dull hoe is about as worthless as a butter knife, especially if you encounter a rattlesnake”, he tell me. With a jug of ice water and that sharpened hoe, I was left to weed what seemed like a square mile of soybeans in that hot, Texas sun while Paw-Paw tended to other matters around that large farm. I’d work for hours, anxiously waiting to see the cloud of dust on the horizon that signaled his approach. We’d break for lunch and head back into town, both us of sweaty and dirty. Inwardly, I was just a little peeved that my mom would make me spend my summers working like a hired hand instead of playing with my friends, but I dared not say it out loud. Mostly, I was too tired to get into much trouble, so I know now that my mom knew what she was doing.
After a home-cooked meal and a cold Dr. Pepper, it was time to take a short nap before heading back out to the fields. Heck, it was too hot to work, so a short nap was always a welcome relief. On our way back to the farm, Paw-Paw usually stopped at the First National Bank in downtown Tulia to talk a little business or politics (or both) with his long-time banker and watch the stock ticker overhead. Soon, it would be cooling off enough to get back to work – hoeing weeds, working on wells, laying irrigation pipe, grading roads, or whatever else needed to be done. It was hot, hard, dirty work, day after day, all summer long. I wouldn’t trade those memories for all the Treasury IOU’s in China.
Sundays were special, as that was the Lord’s day. “Ma-Maw” and “Paw-Paw” were up early getting dressed for church, usually followed by lunch at a nearby eatery with others from the community and perhaps an afternoon football game on TV – we rarely went to the farm on Sundays. I knew instinctively that my grandparents were fairly well off, but I would later learn that they gave about HALF their income to their church and to local colleges. Every other year, “Paw-Paw” got himself a new El Camino, and “Ma-Maw” got a new Cadillac Sedan Deville. Every other year. With half their income, and without any fanfare or “bail out” money. This still amazes me.
So, what’s the point to this story ? Pure, unbridled capitalism coupled with really hard work, sprinkled with the blessings of the Almighty can reap so much more than money and creature comforts. Paw-Paw was about as staunch a Democrat as you’d ever meet, and I can recall hearing some spirited political discussions over coffee and donuts at “The Spud-Nut Shop”. If he were alive today I doubt he’d know what to think of the current political landscape. Perhaps this helped fuel my passion for things political at a very impressionable age. What I do know is this – capitalism is GOOD. Ambition is GOOD. Self-interest is GOOD. Charity is GOOD. Hard work is GOOD. I know this from the lessons learned down on the farm.
It is this work ethic that I intend to bring to the Senate. I’m sharpening my political tools, in memory of “Paw-Paw”.
Detroit has a large Arab-American population, many of which are Iraqi expatriates. In January of 2005, I was privileged to attend the local polling place as a freelance photographer while local Iraqis streamed in to cast their votes in the election of the transitional National Assembly. At the time, I was still “on the fence” as to whether I wanted our troops operating in their country. My press credentials from the Independent Electoral Commission of Iraq are now a cherished souvenir from that day. Let me paint you a picture of what I observed that January day……
I arrived early in the morning to the designated polling place, an empty home improvement store in Southgate (MI) that had been converted to accommodate the throngs gathering for this important day. It was near freezing, and security was really tight – I had to maneuver through several layers of security, including a close inspection of every piece of photo gear in my case, before being allowed inside. National and international media types were everywhere, so I began wandering from polling booth to polling booth in search of imagery. What I saw that morning was an amazing demonstration of solidarity and patriotism like never before, and it forever changed my outlook on “the war”. I learned from the Iraqis themselves how they felt about the prospect of liberty, and their enthusiasm was heart-warming and contagious.
There was a small commotion near the entrance, and an Iraqi with a tambourine began hollering and banging that tambourine as if to cheer on the two fellows entering the polling place. As I focused on the scene unfolding before me, these two middle-aged men lifted a wrinkled old woman from her wheelchair, carrying her “firefighter style” in their interlocked arms toward the polling booth as a younger man pushed her wheelchair behind them. There were shrill cheers going up from other Iraqis around me as this woman cast her ballot, and the tambourine man danced and carried on like it was a wedding as she dipped her finger in purple ink. Another Iraqi gentleman standing near me explained the two men had conveyed their 98-year old mother to the polls, as she was determined to cast her vote in a free election for the first time in her life. I watched as this woman was placed back in her wheelchair and rolled outside the curtained area to even more cheers from other Iraqis.
Later in the day, I wandered outside to the parking lot in search of compelling images, camera in hand. I spotted an elderly Bedouin gentleman at the edge of the parking lot sporting a sandwich board sign bearing his favorite political party’s slogans. After taking a few photos of his grizzled face in the winter sun, his daughter approached me with a message from her father – “I have waited 72 years for this day to come. Thank you, America ! Thank you !”, as if I was somehow personally responsible. Tears welled up in my eyes, for I realized at that moment just how precious and fleeting our liberty can be. I was all at once proud of the Iraqis for showing up to participate in their own destiny, and a bit ashamed at the thought of how few people vote in our own elections. Americans have, for far too long, let others decide our destiny. This has to change or I fear we will lose those liberties we hold dear but do not protect.
Over and over, countless times during that day, I watched every single vote being celebrated. There were short speeches by local clerics in the halls, dancing and cheering and spontaneous celebration at every turn, for these people were tasting the sweet nectar of freedom and liberty – many for the first time in their lives. It was an amazing spectacle that would forever alter my political views. Never again shall I not participate in an election.
The moral of the story ? “Elections have consequences”. If we do not guard our precious liberty with our power at the polls, we may very wind up with a despot in control of our country. Even if you don’t vote for me, I hope you’ll take this story to heart and defend your liberty at every opportunity. Find a candidate you can relate to, offer your support, and GO TO THE POLLS !
