Huffington Post had a blog entitled "Share Your Story" which asked people to write about how they discuss politics so, naturally, I obliged. It may be posted or not.
I am 61 years old. I became political when I attended the so called "Berkley of the East," Boston University in the late 60's. It was a turbulent era and I loved it. I listened and hung on every radical word of the most leftist professors, had all night bull sessions with fellow classmates and talked politics non-stop. I thought we were ushering in a new era with peace, love and flowers in the air always; when there would be no more war and wealth would be more evenly distributed. I truly thought men would always have long hair and most would walk around the world bare foot. The change I thought would be permanent. It wasn't but I never, since that transforming time, stopped thinking or talking about politics as I tried to figure out who was right, who was wrong and what the difference between left and right was anyway. I am still thinking about it. I loved that time and consider it the best time of my life by far.
I changed, of course, grew older, grayer, and suffered losses of parents, family and close friends. I never did become the radical I thought I always would be as moderation overcame my youth with age.
Because of that time though, I became freer, more in tune with my environment, am more health conscious and environmental friendly. I also managed to find a person who unconditionally loves me. Through it all I toughed life out despite its disappointments and because of the disability of polio, an anachronism now, that took its toll as I aged. I worked hard in the legal field until I could not work any longer as my will said yes but my body negated it. I worked not because I loved it because but because I had to. So when I retired I began to do what I always wanted to do and that is write political and social opinion. That is what I do 24/7 or just about.
I still discuss it with those who will suffer through it and I write opinion and blog continuously. The professors at BU like the deceased Howard Zinn gave me the desire to experience another day because of the window onto the political and historical world that they opened. The computer gave me the vehicle to write about it.
I cannot believe there will come a time when I do not exist and will never know how much of it turns out. I cannot believe that my era someday will be the ancient history that the Romans and Greeks were to me. It is hard to conceptualize one's end and because I never had children the only legacy, if I want to call it that, will be the things I write if someday, perhaps, some historian studying this era comes across in some dusty corner the many opinions I have written. Well, I can hope anyway. Otherwise, for me, what is life all about?