United by Cory Booker

Author:Cory Booker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2016-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

So let us not be petty when our cause is great. Let us not quarrel amongst ourselves when our Nation’s future is at stake.

—JOHN F. KENNEDY

In the early 1990s, my father was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, a ruthless thief that slowly robs you of your faculties, mobility, and basic physical gifts. He received this news with his usual mix of humor and determination. In the years that followed, I would get a master class in courage from my dad. With his symptoms worsening and his mortality hovering over him, he made the difficult choice not to surrender to fear. He chose to steal hope from despair, joy from sadness, and laughter—bad dad jokes and all—from the seriousness of the disease.

My father campaigned beside me for every one of my elections, from City Council to all three runs for mayor. No one was better at engaging with voters than this retired salesman now pitching one of his favorite products: his son. Through my campaigns, he became a sort of celebrity in Newark, especially with senior citizens. He told corny jokes, entered and won dance contests, walked in senior fashion shows, delivered food and shared meals, and even delivered condoms to senior citizens after hearing about the growing problem of STDs in some of our city’s senior buildings.

But by the time New Jersey senator Frank Lautenberg passed away in 2013 and I entered a rushed campaign for a special election to the United States Senate, my father’s Parkinson’s had grown too severe for him to be with me on the campaign trail. He and my mom would remain in Las Vegas, Nevada, where they had moved. I felt their absence—and the reason for it pulled at my heart.

By the summer of 2013, Parkinson’s was savaging my father’s cognitive abilities. Our once vibrant, funny, and nurturing father-son talks were over. In our short conversations I would tell my dad how much I loved him, repeating it many times and hoping that at least one of my declarations would settle upon his soul. I would listen patiently to him, even when what he was saying didn’t make sense. I tried not to let the sound of my voice reflect my own pain. Stay positive, I thought. Sound positive. Choose courage. I would tell my dad stories from the campaign and let him know the truth: even though he wasn’t there, he was empowering me at every step, motivating me, giving my work more reason. I just hoped that my Dad, a poor kid born to a single mother in the Jim Crow South, would live to see his son elected to the U.S. Senate.

Then, during the primary, my father had a stroke. I got the news right before a debate. From that point on, there were no longer any conversations with my dad, just my mom putting the phone to his ear and allowing me to talk. My father, a superhero to me throughout my life, was now terrifyingly mortal. I wanted to go to him.

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