I’m not a groupie—never have been. I wondered what was wrong with me in high school when friends plastered their bedroom walls with Teen Beat covers of Leif Garrett or screamed their passion for Billy Joel from front-row seats at his concerts. It’s not that I’m oppositional; I’ve never denied that one of those two guys is seriously talented.  But falling into hero worship is as hard for me as saying "I was wrong" was for the Fonz.

 ***

Someone gave me a Barack Obama calendar for Christmas last year. It sounded like a good bet: Lots of people knew that I’d worked on his campaign, that I was impressed by his intellect and thoughtful style, that I was thrilled with his victory. I, like so many others, appreciated the uplifting messages inspired by Obama even as I understood that he is, at heart, a centrist and diplomat whose fight is reserved primarily for the elusive dream of bipartisanship. You can see I’m not a cynic. Hopeful things make me cry, and I love an exhilarating moment, a great story, a promising scene, an eager heart, a decent man.

 Not a cynic, then. But definitely a skeptic.

 I place tremendous value on independent thinking. When Achmadinejad was asked to speak at Columbia University a few years back, I couldn’t tolerate the spin going on around me, so I parked myself and my three kids in front of the computer and we watched the speech for ourselves, starting with the introductory remarks of the University’s President. Only then could we fully appreciate the gloriously nuanced irony of two antagonistic truths: Achmadinejad was easily the better mannered, more graceful speaker who rose above the politically charged atmosphere; and Achmadinejad is a small-minded ideologue and impotent jerk.

 I don’t think I need to spell out the dangers of religious zealotry or chronic warmongering, but would it surprise you to know that the animation surrounding global warming—as a cause—makes me nervous? It feels a little too religious to me. I don’t want to pretend to anyone that I’ve been taking soil samples from my backyard since the 1970’s and therefore have some kind of firsthand knowledge about the science of carbon on the planet. There are some things that we just can’t know on our own, so we must yield to experts. I'm lucky enough to have a good friend with a PhD in Geology, who patiently sits for regular grillings, and so far I continue to be convinced that the earth is warming (of course) and that it's likely due to industrialization. But you know what? We shouldn’t invest ourselves emotionally in global warming or evolution or gravity or anything. We should remain wedded only to the scientific process which produces emerging truths, moving from any given position to the newer, refined one which results from tedious work and the application of reason. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not suggesting that we abandon current wisdom; I’m suggesting that we don’t cling to inflexible ideologies. Smart people move with changing truth, and I want to be smart. I want to use my brain and ask questions and maintain some autonomy in this cookie cutter world.

***

 Obama’s ideas and words remain grand. But decent men do not lead exalted lives, for they are always, till the end, men.  Any man who wields power over others should be looked upon with distrust, and, as Obama’s capitulation on some issues tells us, granted no knee-jerk loyalty. We can prefer him to prior Presidents and alternative candidates, and we can recognize the realpolitik tradeoffs he must make, and we can choose to support his efforts financially or politically when they make sense. But no man deserves an unobstructed path to deification.

 Let me be perfectly clear: I was uncomfortable with my Obama calendar from the moment my sister-in-law put it into my hands. Long before liberals had a chance to feel disillusioned or conservatives could lay their claws into him, I accepted this gift, this daily reminder of my political tribe, with reluctance. It was a lovely gesture, a prize of sorts, coming--without a trace of acrimony--from a person who supported the Republican candidate; it represented her acquiescence to the new winner in town. To be honest, that sweet intent is what has kept the calendar on my wall, despite my downright embarrassment at the notion that anyone might mistake me for an acolyte. I have wanted constantly to say to the people who passed through my kitchen during the year 2009, “I don’t worship him, you know.” But I held my tongue, clinging stubbornly to my self-imposed humility in the face of my sister-in-law’s own grace in the giving of the calendar.

 Still, thank God it's 2010. I’m looking forward to Paris.