By Nikhil Kumar

As I walked into the Travis County Democratic Party Headquarters, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of fulfillment, and purpose. Five weeks in the Mark Strama Campaign Academy and three more weeks in the Kirk Watson Liz Carpenter Fellowship program had thoroughly extinguished my initial attraction to the campaigning side of politics. Every day making calls, and sizzling in the sun canvassing during the hottest time of the day wasn’t doing anything to keep me going till the end of the program. In one moment all of that changed.

            I was canvassing in South Austin when I realized that canvassing actually made a difference in the election, not only in local elections but in gubernatorial races as well.  I knocked on my next door and  it opened, the familiar smell of barbecue overwhelmed me and made me remember that I hadn’t had lunch; as if on cue my stomach rumbled with resounding effect. The elderly gentleman politely smiled at me as I fumbled with my clipboard, pen, and Bill White flyers. I read through my script and then I came to my final question.

            “Do you want a yard sign to support our candidates in the election; we really need your help in this election to turn out the moderate voters?” I asked him. Since he was a straight ticket Democrat I expected the answer from him to be yes, but sadly I was disappointed. “No,” he said to me with resounding force, ‘Son, I have been a Democrat for 70 years, and have voted in Texas for 40 years, and in those years I have never had a yard sign, so for the sake of tradition, I will have to refuse you.” Dejected I said to him in a defeated tone, “Sir, look at me, I am a young man not even eligible to vote yet, and why do I choose to get involved in politics, so much so that I am even campaigning for a party that I can’t even vote for?” That question even had me speechless; I couldn’t even answer it myself let alone expect another man to possibly know the answer. As I let him ponder the question, I had to think about my motivations as canvasser, and as an ambassador on behalf of the Democratic Party.

            When he answered the obvious “That’s a mighty fine question son; I don’t know,” and couldn’t help but smile and realize that I had known the answer from the first time I had canvassed, “Because I actually believe in the ideals the Democratic Party has as a whole, not only do I just call myself a Democrat, I actually want to get involved in the furthering of the party.” As I finished my speech, the man stood with an expression close to as if I had slapped him, “That makes sense son, but I’ll pass this time,” as soon as he said this, the door slammed in my face.

            As I walked down the street, finishing up the rest of the street, ringing on all of the doors in the area assigned to me, I called Sam to pick me up and sat down on the sidewalk to wait for him. When I sat there wondering about all the people I had talked to, the thought of this particular conversation kept creeping into my mind. “Why couldn’t I have persuaded him to take a sign?,” I thought, “three years of debate ought to have enabled me to have some level of persuasion, so why hadn’t he taken the sign?” As I played the conversation over and over in my head I couldn’t help but feel the helpless nature; the nature that comes when I feel like I haven’t made a difference, the feeling I get when I feel like there is nothing I can do to make change, a powerless feeling.

            As I sat on the curb, lost in my thoughts, a white pickup truck pulls up a few yards in front of me. The first thought that occurs to me is that I have been trespassing, because I had been sitting on the grass, as well as the curb. I jump so fast that half of the things in my backpack falls out, flyers, books, and water all tumble out on the street. I immediately set about gathering my things, and hiding the fact that I was blushing with embarrassment. As I looked to see who was in the truck, the unbelievable happened.

            The man, the seventy year old man, the man that I had spent so long trying to convince to take a Bill White yard sign so I could fill my quota, was standing in front of me. I had no idea what to say, luckily for me, the man was the first to talk. “Son,” he started out ominously; meanwhile I am praying to myself, “I hope I didn’t leave anything or forget anything on his front door.” He continued “I have come to say I am sorry to you.” I stood there dumbfounded “Why?” I thought. “See, you showing up on my door has shown me that the future of America is in great hands, when young citizens such as yourself take part of the political process, it makes me feel as if there is hope for America yet.” “Wow, he came all the way here to tell me that,” I thought as replied “Thank you sir that is very kind of you to say.” He then smiled and said to me in the most genuine manner, “Son, I have been driving down this street only for the purpose of asking you a question; you see, because you knocked on my door, you have awakened my sense of Democratic pride. Your question made me question myself as to why I became a Democrat in the first place.” “Wow, what just happened?” I thought to myself as I stood speechless in front of him. “It is because of you that I have decided to take a yard sign in my front yard, for the first time in my forty years of voting.”

            As I opened my mouth to say “Thank You, I will mark you down for one sir,” he said to me, “Don’t thank me, I should be thanking you.” With that last parting statement he quietly got into his pickup truck and drove away. Contemplating what just happened; I shakily reached down into my bag and marked the man down to get a yard sign. It was then that the scope of the moment hit me with full force. I had changed this man’s life, I had changed his way of thinking for seventy years and I had made a difference. It was then I had found the reason to which I had become involved in politics in the first place.