Lines and circles

THERE ARE lines and circles in life. Sometimes the lines are straight. Sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes the circles are full, and sometimes they’re not. Here’s a story about some lines and circles in my life.

When I was around ten years old, my Papaw took me to town to get some government cheese. We went for the free cheese, but also because Congressman Lee Hamilton was supposed to be there. Papaw wanted me to meet him. When we approached the Congressman in line, Papaw introduced us. Lee and I shook hands. I didn’t know what the Congressman really did, but it was clear to me my Papaw believed he was a very important man.

On the ride home, Papaw tried to explain politics to me. He summed it all up by saying, “Democrats are for the working man, and Republicans are for the rich man.” I didn’t take that statement the way he intended it, though. I said, “well, I want to be rich, so I guess I’m a Republican!” I maintained an interest in politics after that. I also came to better understand what the two parties in our political system stood for.

I was sixteen in 1994 when Newt Gingrich ushered in the first Republican U.S. House majority in forty years. Newt led the House Republican campaign with what he called the Contract with America. The Contract was a set of ten bills the Republicans promised to put to a vote if the people handed them the majority. I was inspired by the Contract campaign, the policies it championed, and by Newt. That year, a woman named Jean Leising ran against Congressman Lee Hamilton. While most Republicans won their races in ’94, Jean narrowly lost to the long-time incumbent. The Republicans did take the majority in the House, however, and Newt became the new Speaker of the House.

Jean ran again in 1996. By then, I was eighteen and had graduated from high school. During the 1996 campaign cycle, I got involved with the local Republican party and started a Young Republicans chapter. In October of 1996, Speaker Gingrich came to Seymour, Indiana, not far from my hometown, to campaign for Jean. Our elderly County Party Chairman at the time, aware of my enthusiasm, took me to the event to meet Newt. It felt like the time Papaw took me to meet Congressman Hamilton, only this time there was no free cheese. I was also more prepared. I brought along a book I hoped to get Newt to sign. The Chairman helped me get to Newt. Newt and I shook hands, and he signed my book. I was very pleased.

My joy lasted only until I looked more closely at the book on the way home. Newt had signed the book, but he had written, “Best wishes, Dusti.”

He left off the “n” at the end of my name. I’ve never liked my name. I don’t know a single Dustin that likes the name. The only thing worse than Dustin, though, is Dusti. So, the book went from being a prized possession to a sour disappointment. I did keep it, however.

Now, fast forward nearly thirty years. You might say I’ve maintained my interest in public service. I was elected as prosecuting attorney for four terms and then as judge. My wife, Erin, has been elected as the local party vice chair, the district party chair, as a State Senator, and now as Congresswoman in the very seat that Lee Hamilton once held.

Recently, Erin and I were invited to witness the Presidential Inauguration in Washington. As a member of Congress, Erin was in the Capitol Rotunda where the President took the oath. As her spouse, I was seated in the Capitol atrium with other special guests. As I took my seat, I introduced myself to the young man next to me. He told me his name, then added that he was Newt Gingrich’s grandson, there with his mother, Newt’s daughter. I said, “well, have I got a story for you.”

I told them about meeting Newt all those years ago, and about my book that tragically says “Dusti.” Newt’s daughter decided she was going to rectify the situation. She took my contact information and promised to get me a new signed copy. I thought it was a very kind gesture, but didn’t expect her to follow through. She did, though. A few days later, I got this:

Which brings me back to the lines and circles.

In a single generation my family has gone from the government cheese line to the Presidential Inauguration line. I went from witnessing my Papaw’s reverence for a Congressman while standing in line for a food handout, to being married to the Congresswoman who now holds that very Congressman’s seat. That’s a nearly vertical straight line. There are other lines, too, less straight. One from my Papaw, to my party chairman, to Newt’s daughter, who all graciously helped me. There is line from Lee Hamilton to Jean Leising to Erin Houchin.

And circles. I see my two autographed books as completing a circle. The circle opened when Newt forgot the “n” at the end of my name. It closed when he got my name right this time. The book circle is an emblem of a bigger circle, though. A circle that opened when my Papaw took me to meet the Congressman. Papaw died not long after that. He didn’t live to see the circle he opened as it arced through my life, encompassing my adolescent interest in politics, curving through my career, embracing my family, and most recently bending around my wife’s election to Congress. I wish he could have met my wife. He would have loved her, and she would have made him proud. It is an improbable and glorious circle. It may not yet be full.