Perhaps, in the end, it’s all about manners. Let me explain. A week before the election, I dropped off my daughter at that very progressive elementary school on the Upper West Side. The mother of one of her classmates walked by wearing one of those buttons that said “Bush-Cheney” with an X through it. My daughter was confused. She understands the concept of the X through a name, having seen these buttons all over our neighborhood this fall. But she’s just learning how to read and she mistakenly thought the button read “Bush-Kerry.” She couldn’t understand why this woman was against BOTH candidates (my daughter’s a very bright child but she doesn’t quite grasp the concept of anarchy just yet.) So she asked the mom why she was against both Bush and Kerry.

The mother (not seemingly in possession of a great sense of humor) corrected her without cracking a smile saying she was against Bush and CHENEY, not Kerry. Then she added, “Death to Bush-Cheney.”

There’s a lesson you want to pass on to a 6 year old. Mind you, this is a school that is so politically correct that in chess club, there are no losers and Halloween is not celebrated because of fear of costumes being too competitive (I kid you not). But while this mom seemingly goes along with these concepts by her child’s presence there, she considers it okay to wish death on a national political opponent, and a sitting president at that.

Just around the same time, my wife and I were out to dinner with a couple we met and near the end of the evening I got the “look.” You know what I mean. It was a look of confounded perplexity. The woman sitting across from me could not fathom, after two hours of enjoyable conversation, that this seemingly normal human being (me), with two eyes, a nose and mouth just like her, and possessing a quaint sense of humor, could possibly consider voting for George Bush. It’s a sort of sideways glance with the mouth partially opened. I smiled at her and said it’s okay, I understand her confusion, I’d encountered it before. But I do hope we see them again because I honestly liked them, in spite of our political differences.

So you see, it’s often easier to keep my political views to myself, especially when the people are thoughtful and polite. At the end of a long day, I simply choose to avoid any unpleasantness and dodge that look which ultimately comes my way – the same way I avoid confrontations with certain aunts by just nodding with their cockamamie views of family history. My wife is happier, the evening ends on a more upbeat note and we are more likely to get return invitations. And of course, the people don’t view me as a subterranean cretin.

I originally wrote the Mr. X piece back in September not so much as a campaign statement for Mr. Bush (not that I was against that), but to point out the small-mindedness, the hypocrisy, and the general intolerance of my uber-liberal neighbors on the Upper West Side. I chronicled some of the things I had heard throughout the course of the campaign which, I believe, showed a narrow construction of thought from people who consider themselves among the most caring intellects in our country.

So the huge upset and soul-searching that followed Mr. Kerry’s decisive loss on November 2 never really came as a surprise. The great concern over the growing red scourge spreading throughout the country fit perfectly with everything I had heard. The “woe is me” whining, the hand-wringing about our future and of course, the inevitable comparisons with Germany and Adolf Hitler – it was all so predictable.

But now that it’s over, I don’t gloat. I would never say I told you so. It’s not my style and it’s so uncool. I will admit I hung around school longer then usual during drop-off that week, content to listen quietly, relishing the moment by myself. But that was really the extent of it. At the same time, I will admit that I haven’t talked to my really close friends of many years who are completely perplexed by my views. I did accept one lunch – a bet payoff – from the lead editorial writer at another paper – but even then, we talked mostly football.

Ultimately, I think the difference between my neighbors and friends and me is that I am more the optimist. I have a stronger faith in our country and its miraculous Constitution. And I don’t fear religious people. In fact, I believe the religious people I have met across the country are kinder, more courteous, and more willing to give of themselves. And, like me, they are more abashedly in love with this country. We tend to believe there are few, if any nations that have been as noble and generous in the history of our planet. And we don’t share the cynicism about Washington that my neighbors feel. There is perhaps one other important difference – I have never been prone to believe in conspiracy theories, whether they are about grassy knolls or from the pens of Oliver Stone or Michael Moore.

I also have memory. One of those memories is sitting in bed and listening to the radio on the night after the 1964 LBJ landslide over Barry Goldwater. That night, I heard the pundits of that era bloviating about the possible end of the Republican Party. Even my eighth grade mind told me that made no sense. And I know the talk of the demise of the Democrats is equally silly today. Just before the election, someone asked me if I would ever listen to Bruce Springsteen again. Of course I will listen and I still believe, never having met him, that Mr. Springsteen is a very decent guy. We simply disagreed on whom to support in this election. That is all. Last time I looked, we live in a democracy with a two-party system and everyone is free to choose the candidate they want.

You see, I don’t go in for the slash-and-burn mentality. More than 100 million Americans went to the polls in an orderly way three weeks ago. We quietly decided the direction our country will take for the next four years. It was efficient. It was orderly. And like the country in which we live, it’s a continuing marvel.

That night, I wanted my daughter to feel the excitement and understand how lucky she is to be an American. It was the same excitement I felt when my mother took me into the voting booth at the age of 9 and let me mark the X on the ballot. That was 1960 and in our Midwestern town, there were still paper ballots. So I used some bribes on November 2 (a parent’s prerogative) – we had potato chips and brownies for snacks.

I had a big map on the floor and two crayons, one red and one blue. And as the results came in, she colored in the states. She only made it until the map worked its way past West Virginia, but I’ll bet you one thing: she’ll remember this election the way I remember 1960… and years from now, I hope she has the same optimism and faith in this country that her father has, in spite of what she hears around her.