My First Caucus

In the days leading up to Super Tuesday, I kept waiting to get an off-white invitation in the mail from an older neighbor, preferably an active, sporty grandmother-type, who had looked up my political affiliation and requested my presence in her home for the Democratic caucus. I would show up wearing a sweater and jeans and she would offer me a shortbread cookie and a cardboard cup of Earl Grey tea, because even though we’re neighbors, we don’t quite know each other well enough for me to drink from one of her cat mugs. I would sit down on the couch with six or so other neighbors and we’d chat amicably about Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. After the count—more of a fun “Oh, you like that candidate?” thing than a mean, divisive political thing—we’d go back to our pleasantries, vowing to meet again for a summer barbecue in Cheesman Park.

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Sean Cronin