A brief inventory from eight months of knocking doors

I was talking with a voter in Middle Valley a few weeks ago when I remarked on the colorful glass fishing-net floats strung from the eaves of his front porch.

He seemed surprised that I knew what they were, so I explained that we had similar ones hanging on the wall in my childhood home. It was filled with artifacts from my dad’s deployments to the Philippines, Japan, and Vietnam.

“Wait here,” the man said.

He ducked into his house and returned with a canvas medic’s jacket. Judging from its size and heavy lining, it was probably worn by an American nurse in Korea. He said he collected military memorabilia and had been waiting to find someone it would fit.

People have given me all sorts of things after I knocked their doors—a bottle of water, a fresh-baked cookie, a Reese’s cup. I have a lucky penny, a lucky quarter, and a lucky rock; a stuffed animal a little girl made from a white sock; and a clipping from a night-blooming cereus named Big Bertha.

People have also shared their burdens with me.

In a state ravaged by addiction, and where government resources are scarce, I’ve met people and heard stories I’ll never forget. There was the lanky young man I crossed paths with on a country road, who’d been to more funerals than weddings for his friends. There was the older man who looked both hard as stone and completely shattered. He’d done everything he knew to do to save his only child. I was the first person he’d told about her death. His wife was already gone. 

There’s always debate about how candidates should spend the closing days of a campaign. I choose to spend them doing what I’ve been doing. Every day is a gift and an opportunity.

Want to be part of my campaign’s final push for responsive, trustworthy government in Tennessee? Click to donate, volunteer, or get a yard sign.

Allison
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