Nathan and the Alligator Meat

After sipping coffee every morning this week , I've detailed one of the Top Ten Reasons you should vote for my dad for State Representative of Georgia, District #66 on my Facebook page . I don't know if I've made a difference for his campaign. But I've definitely had fun. 

Voters will decide next Tuesday. If dad loses the election, we get him back. If he wins, we'll spend a little more time down town than normal, reminiscing.

Dad served as a State Representative from 1994 - 2002, when redistricting of the lines forced him to run against a fellow representative. He graciously bowed out of the race at that time, and focused his efforts elsewhere.

During his eight years in office, however, we made a few unique memories. My young boys pushed voting buttons on the house floor on occasion and smiled for several photo ops with high ranking officials. 

Pushing buttons on the House floor

 

Posing with Speaker of the House Tom Murphy

Since my first husband died of a brain tumor in 1996, I was adjusting to life as a widowed mom while dad learned to navigate the political mongering that skulks through the capital. A few years into the gig, I asked for help one night, and got much more than I bargained for in return.

My boys and I were on our way to the circus when I realized I'd left my check card at home. Maybe even my wallet. So I called dad, hoping he was still in his capital office.

"Hey, We're on our way to the circus and I left my wallet at home. Any chance you have time for dinner with us?"

"Hmm, " he thought for a moment, "I can't get away right now, but I could try and meet you at The Freight Depot for the evening reception."

I squirmed. Various groups hosted evening receptions for State Representatives while the House was in session. I'd attended a few with dad, but going without him seemed inappropriate.

"Are you sure?" I asked, "I can't just barge in there."

"Just tell them you're with me. It will be fine and I'll try to get there soon."

With no other option for food, I drove to the depot in my cowboy boots and denim skirt and jacket, and tried to walk confidently into the building. No one questioned our attendance when I mentioned my dad's name. So we got plates and looked around.

Only then did I realize the event was hosted by friends of The Okefenokee Swamp, meaning the buffet tables held unusual fare. We passed The Whole Roasted Pigs and avoided a container of frog legs. To be honest, I remember more of what we didn't eat than what we actually put on our plates, except for the fact that Nathan chose a few pieces of what looked like chicken fingers - and they made me nervous. 

We found the only seats available across from two stodgy looking representatives and their wives; the kind who didn't seem very amused by my children's presence. With my stress level rising, I left my boys at their seats so I could find drinks and desert, hoping something would fill our stomachs. 

When I returned, I learned that one of the women had told Nathan he was eating fried alligator meat - not chicken fingers. And this must be what meant through his mind right after:

I didn't thank her for the info, especially when Nathan started complaining about his stomach.

"You've got to eat something, Nathan," I said in near panicked-my-son-will-starve-before-the-night-is-over-hyped-up-mom-mode.

"I can't," he replied with a hint of desperation.

"How about some blueberry desert. Just one bite."

"I don't think so, mom."

Convinced that one nibble would make all the difference, I insisted, "Just one bite. That's all I'm asking. You'll like it. I promise."

My dutiful son did as I asked. He took one bite and then looked as if his eyes might pop out of his head. Knowing trouble was eminent, I whispered, "Swallow, Nathan, swallow."

He stared back in panic.

"Swallow, Nathan," I repeated with as much veiled sternness as I could muster.

He shook his head in sheer desperation.

I tried one last time, "Swal - low, Na- than, swal-low!!" To which he leaned over the table and threw up the blueberry desert and semi-digested fried alligator meat.

He apologized profusely while the stodgy ones looked on disapprovingly. I felt like smudge. But thankfully, the explosion mostly landed within the circumference of the plastic plate. 

We cleared the mess, made it to the circus, and my boys didn't starve that night. 

I guess that's why I'm the one writing the out-of-the-box reasons to vote for my dad. I just never could do the whole proper-political-stay-in-the-box thing. Even when I tried. 

If dad wins, I'll head that way to push the button for at least one vote. But I can promise you, either way, I won't be swallowing any alligator meat - and neither will Nathan.

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