wearing one's heart on one's sleeve

In a small community, it seems much more vital to make nice.

Thinking before I speak out doesn't come easily to me. I've often felt I should invest in a vanity plate that reads "BLURT." Politically, my opinions have only become more passionate with the years. Studying racism and community organizing has spurred me to take more active roles in public action. I've marched with my church in Gay Pride Parades, and stood in the rain to protest a white supremacy rally. Even though it hardly came naturally, I've pushed down my discomfort and joined with others to visit my legislators in Madison. I've attended dozens of meetings, written articles, joined prayer vigils, signed countless petitions. I've agitated for paid sick leave, early release, treatment instead of prison, and minority hiring. Living in the city, I never hesitated to put my beliefs out there.

We had some concerns that a move into this rural part of the state might land us squarely in Tea Party Central. (The rodents might not be the only "squirrels" in the new neighborhood!) Driving my parents to farflung doctor appointments and seeing the bucolic landscape marred by hulking SCOTT WALKER GOVERNOR billboards seems to confirm our worst fears. My husband and I both feel strongly that Walker needs to be recalled. His attack on collective bargaining alone reversed a long heritage of labor rights in the state. Time and again he has funneled tax breaks to corporate cronies and then argued that public employees need to sacrifice because the state is "broke." It's hard to decide whether he is misguided, conniving or deeply evil.

But then there's the matter of the yard sign.

My husband thinks we should announce our presence with a bang, and slap a bright red RECALL SCOTT WALKER sign in front of the house. I'm dragging my feet. I'm reluctant for a political sign-- any political sign-- to be our first introduction to our neighbors. Add to that the fact that my parents have lived at the lake for 35 years. Of course they'd hardly be responsible for our actions-- good heavens, I'm finally understanding that I can't be held accountable for my husband's choices, silly as that sounds!-- but I hardly want to burst onto the scene as "Jim and Mary Ann's obnoxious daughter." I'd rather they know a little more about me before they see me as a rabble-rouser.

The best alternative is probably to duck into the Recall office in the next good-sized town. Perhaps I'll meet some of my parents' friends there. There have to be at least one or two other liberals at the lake.