"You have to take politics?"

Sitting across the table from my grandmother last summer, the topic of conversation became, predictably, life at school. I began, for what must have been the hundredth time that month, to recite my well-organized, perfectly-outlined, spiel about how great Yale was, how perfect the year had been, and how life couldn't be better. Half-way through, though, just as I had reached the part about my Mr. Keating- like Poli Sci teacher, my grandmother interrupted me, her hand over her heart in shock:

"You have to take Politics? They talk about things that are--political?"

I confirmed this to be the case, and explained that Yale was actually a very political campus.

"Oh dear. I'm so sorry," she replied, truly tormented by the thought of my being in an environment where discussion and debate is so constant and open.

My grandma hates politics. She hates all politicians, political parties, conventions, and elections. She knows Bill Clinton and Bob Dole as "those guys in Washington," and Ross Perot as "that guy with big ears who interrupted my art show." When I express an opinion on anything more serious than whether her chocolate chip cookies need more brown sugar, she gets jittery and starts dabbing her forehead with her crumbled, six-year-old Kleenex. When I told her I had registered as a Democrat, she just shook her head. When I told her I was volunteering at the local Democratic headquarters, her whole body seemed to quiver.

My grandmother has adhered to a sentiment that seems to be gathering more and more supporters in its corner: the notion that government can't be trusted. She has lost all faith in the system, she sees no reason to hope for any change for the better. In her eyes, voting is pointless: "It makes no difference," she claims. "They're all the same anyway." Anyone in D.C. is a crook, only out to serve their own interests. She thinks that they're all loose in morals and values, and epitomize the worst of mankind.

And there have been plenty of events to sustain this thinking. The press has always seized upon the worst in Washington. And there are people, such as my grandmother, who only look at the world through the big headlines. And all the worst seems over-emphasized, while all the best seems to be filtered through.

My grandmother hates a government she knows nothing about. She feels she can't change things, yet she's never tried. She complains that she's never represented, yet she never bothers to vote. My grandmother hates dissension, arguing, and debating, yet if there is none, then she thinks that people didn't stick up for what they believe in. When there is, she calls it "gridlock."

So maybe Washington's not perfect. That's because humanity is not faultless. But that's no reason to automatically condemn everything associated with politics. We need to read the fine print once in awhile, we need to understand what's going on. We need to be a country more like Yale, with voter registration drives, and weekly meetings and debates, and protests and vigils, and hundreds of colored signs which paper the campus each week. Okay, maybe we could do without the signs.

I want to pour my granddaughter a glass of milk some day, and, as I eye her size for the wool sweater I'm knitting her, tell her all that is good and positive about our nation. We needn't all be pessimists, especially when it's more based upon perceptions than reality. "Honey," I'll ask her, "What do you think about the new campaign finance laws?" And she'll roll her eyes, I'm sure, and wish for a grandma who talked about chocolate chip cookies.