Odd Couple Parents Taught Me the Value of Tolerance

The first year my father voted for Ronald Reagan, my mother voted for John Anderson, a former Republican who, in 1980, ran as an independent. 

That might be as close as they ever came to political consensus. 

While neither declared themselves either Republican or Democrat or Conservative or Liberal – labels were not encouraged in the Uhles house – everyone knew which way their respective winds blew. My father was primarily raised by his grandparents just over the Indiana state line east of Chicago. Money was always tight – tight enough that at one point his pet chicken Brownie was served as Sunday dinner. Nutrition over sentimentality, I suppose. It was that upbringing, I believe, that made him a staunch believer in fiscal responsibility and work over welfare. 

My mother, who was born and raised in Seattle, Washington, also grew up with relatively little. The youngest of four children, she grew up with a family for whom outside direction was anathema and bucking the system was a point of pride. While certainly far too blue collar to be considered authentically bohemian, there was certainly a degree of resistance to Eisenhower-era conservatism being taught and demonstrated at an early age. 

My parents were, by most measures, politically opposed. If I were one willing to indulge in a silly oversimplification, I would describe my dad as more suit and tie and my mother as more tie-dye – although neither is actually true. What is true is they both had their own deeply felt and diametrically opposed opinions, opinions they were unafraid to voice or act upon. They were true to themselves and their beliefs. 

They were also, until the day my father died, true to one another. 

There is an adage so old it has become something of a cliché – opposites attract. It’s a slight turn-of-phrase that, in the current climate, I find it increasingly difficult to believe. Everywhere we turn we are confronted with knives-out rhetoric, meant not to support a political agenda or ethos, but rather to insult and attack those whose beliefs veer left or right. It’s become de rigueur enough that imagining, much less finding, a couple whose beliefs diverge in the manner my parents’ did feels improbable.  

 Which is a shame. 

Politics were not the only thing my parents disagreed on. My dad loved country music. My mother was more interested in folk. My dad enjoyed driving old cars. My mother was interested in driving cars she felt reasonably secure would start in the morning. My dad loved movies. My mother loved books. The list goes on and on. One thing they did agree on – and insisted on passing on to their children – was the belief that discussion was more important than agreement, and that discussion only succeeded when approached with a certain degree of very intentional civility. 

My father would have never accused my mother of being a socialist, mentally deficient, or morally bankrupt – all terms I have seen applied to Democrats in recent days. 

My mother, in turn, would have never referred to my father as a fascist, a bootlicking thug, or an unevolved caveman – again, terms I have seen applied to Republicans in recent days. 

It would not have been cool, or kind, or helpful in any way.  

My parents loved each other. They also listened to one another. When they disagreed, they had open discussions. They showed my sister and I, in a very demonstrative way, that building up was far more constructive than tearing down. It is those lessons, I believe, that led me to becoming a writer. I was taught – and shown – that active and positive engagement yielded results as did a willingness to listen and learn.  

In the interest of full disclosure, and perhaps more than a little nostalgic haze, I remember my mother and father being better at this than I am. I am, admittedly, too tightly wound at times and let my frustrations control how I communicate. If I have ever rolled my eyes at you – apologies. 

A final thought. I am not, in any way, suggesting we the people do not share our ideas and beliefs. That’s foundational to the American Experiment. Champion ideas. Be a proponent and a promoter. There are no discussions, of any kind, without a willingness to share beliefs. But when we agitate instead of advocate and use opinion as a tool for unkindness, the only real result is friction and frustration. 

And nothing great will ever come of that.