Last Sunday I knocked on a door and the person who answered was not the older woman my canvassing app told me it was going to be. I assumed this was her son, just home from church. Big guy wearing suit pants and a white T-shirt. He listened politely as I talked about the need for Tennessee to invest in people.
As soon as I mentioned public schools, he started down a familiar path: CRT, sexual indoctrination by teachers, etc.
I’ve learned the hard way that if someone truly believes something, no matter how baseless, I’m not going to disabuse them of that belief by telling them they’re wrong. So I tried to make my “invest in people” point from another angle.
I said that every family I knew had a member with a substance abuse problem or a mental health problem, and that expanding Medicaid would cost us nothing and get 350,000 more Tennesseans access to treatment.
He walked down a couple of steps to stand on the porch too. Now he was only a foot taller than me.
“I’ve been that person trying desperately to get addiction treatment or psychiatric care for a loved one in crisis,” I said. “That’s a hellish place to be. Why wouldn’t we want to make that just a little easier for 350,000 people and their families if we could?”
He glanced away for several seconds, then looked back at me.
“I’m coming up on six years clean from opioids,” he said. “But I’ve got a brother . . .”
“Congratulations, that’s a huge accomplishment.” I paused, thought, came up with nothing. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
He stuck out his hand. “You’ve got my vote, Mrs. Gorman, if you can keep that passion.”
“That’s all I’ve got,” I said.
Allison
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