‘Tis the season to debate politics, or rather, I wish it were. Unfortunately, debate never seems to work out well. Even people who should know better end up making fun of which ever side is the Other Side, or assuming that supporters of the Other Side are stupid, or assuming that they know which side people are on (or that they’ve even picked a side) based on bits and pieces that they know about that person.

I hate this.

Four years ago somebody assumed he knew which side I was on, wouldn’t believe me when I explained why I was as yet undecided, got defensive when I wouldn’t listen to his hype and hyperbole, and hasn’t spoken to me since. That same election cycle, I spent a very confusing day visiting with two different groups of people, each of whom confidently talked about “our candidate” as if they knew which one I’d picked and, you guessed it, each group had me pegged for a different candidate.

I hate this.

Talking “the issues” is even more fraught because everyone assumes that if you support one position on one issue, they know which position of Every Other Issue Under The Sun will be. Which leads them directly to an assumption of which candidate you support. Which lands us all in the same kettle of fish.

I hate this.

You may wonder why I don’t just claim a side and proclaim it, sweeping aside unfounded assumptions with one swell foop. Well, first of all, this is because I’m not Republican or Democratic. I’ve voted almost exactly half and half. But more importantly, it’s because as soon as I choose and declare support for one side, people will immediately assume that I agree with that side’s stance on the major issues. And usually I don’t. I’ve never seen a candidate that I agreed with on all the major issues. And so here again I get socked by assumptions.

I hate this.

My coping strategy is to refrain from talking politics at all. Ever. With anyone but my immediate family (and even then only in extremely small doses). I just won’t. It’s not worth the angst.