We can’t always control our reactions

When Bill Clinton was president, my Republican family members and friends visibly cringed when they watched him and his wife, Hillary, on television. They said they couldn’t stand the sight of them.

I thought these Republicans narrow-minded until George W. Bush was elected president. In the past four years, I’ve not been able to watch Bush on TV for longer than five minutes at a stretch, because my negative physical reaction to him is so intense. When he pauses between sentences and looks at the audience, I think of those bills that arrive in the mail containing a page that reads: “This space intentionally left blank.”

The Republicans in my life don’t get it about Bush and me. And I don’t understand what’s so irritating about Bill and Hillary. It must be the chemistry factor. Just as we do or don’t have chemistry for other people, we do or don’t have it for candidates. We react viscerally to people all the time.

Remember the woman who had epileptic seizures to the voice of Mary Hart on “Entertainment Tonight”? Or those researchers who ask women to sniff the sweaty T-shirts of anonymous men? The women tend to prefer the scents of men whose DNA differs the most from their DNA, nature’s way of keeping the gene pool fresh.

Anyway, on Thursday evening I watched Bush on television at the Rathdrum home of John and Sue Ward. John is a column regular for the election season. I chose this car-racing fan when NASCAR dads were the “it” demographic for candidates. Now, they’ve been placed on a swift boat to oblivion, but John and I have remained in contact.

I arrived toting a VHS tape from the Democratic convention in July. Hillary’s introduction of her husband was on it, as was Bill Clinton’s speech. John and I watched the tape together and then we watched Bush’s speech, live from New York. John, a Bush fan, sat on one couch while I, a Hillary and Bill fan, sat on the other.

Hillary looked great – to me. When she spoke, I heard a smart, thoughtful woman who will be an excellent president someday. John crossed his arms in front of him and appeared to be holding his breath as Hillary spoke. He didn’t say much until Hillary finished and embraced her husband.

John grimaced. “I see the biggest joke I’ve seen in a long time. I don’t think the two can even stand to be in the same room together.”

Bill Clinton then spoke. I felt nostalgic for the charismatic way he delivers speeches (and was sorry to hear the next day about his heart bypass). I looked over to John. He was shaking his head back and forth in disgust. When Clinton said something he disagreed with, John yelled at the television: “Yeah, right!”

While Clinton was in office, John would hear Clinton’s voice and “feel” a liar. “He has no ethics, no morals,” John said.

“I just got tired of hearing what he was babbling about.”

The tape of the Clintons finished just as Bush was being introduced in New York. As Bush began speaking, John unfolded his arms and smiled for the first time in a half-hour. I uttered “ugh” as I listened to Bush and confessed that the next hour might be torture, as I had never been able to watch the president for any extended period of time.

I pointed out Bush’s space-intentionally-left-blank stare. I told John the president sounded, well, dumb, especially when he repeatedly said “kep” for “kept.” John didn’t see this at all. He grinned and clapped throughout Bush’s talk. He loved it.

I did concede that Bush didn’t butcher the language, as I expected, and he made a few good jokes. Pundits later deemed it one of the best speeches of his political career.

John and I agreed it’s a fascinating civic exercise to watch politicians give speeches while sitting with someone who sees – and feels – things so differently. Try it at your home sometime.

And by the way, if this column made you so irritated that you had to leave the room, don’t blame the messenger. Blame bad chemistry.