The media frenzy (okay, it’s a mild frenzy) over the end of the Gore marriage reminds of something that occurred to me (it may have occurred to others as well) a decade ago, during the 2000 presidential campaign.
Back then, Bill Clinton was still president, and the scars, such as they were, of the Monica Lewinsky impeachment proceedings were still fresh in the public memory. During his campaign, George W. Bush put his faith — and his own conversion story — front and center. Stories trickled out about his drinking and drug use and hell-raising, all before he had his 1986 heart-to-heart with Billy Graham and found Jesus. Even his harshest critics agreed that in the years since his transformation, W. had been faithful to Laura and had stayed away from alcohol. Al Gore, meanwhile, had this image as a “goody two-shoes”, an almost impossibly earnest and clean-cut sort of fellow, the kind who really had only been with one woman in his entire life, the high school sweetheart whom he had married.
I remember thinking that Clinton, Bush, and Gore represented three different (but familiar) kinds of men. Clinton was the womanizing bad boy who had never really grown up; a man of unmatched political skill, intelligence, and charm, he had impulses he simply could not or would not control. George W. Bush, on the other hand, was the “reformed bad boy”, the man who had struggled with youthful recklessness but through spirituality and hard work transformed his life and become faithful and responsible. But Gore struck me — and of course, I didn’t know the man and was basing this on the media image — as the sort of fellow who had never known any real temptation, never tasted what it was like to fall, to sin, to betray. I wondered if Al Gore had ever known the guilt and shame I was confident both Clinton and Bush had tasted.
I thought to myself, politics aside, that I’d rather be led by the reformed bad boys of the world than men from the other two categories. The “Clinton type” was dazzling but heartbreaking; we progressives can only weep at the opportunities squandered because of the 42nd president’s inability to control himself sexually. (However loathsome his persecutors were, no one can deny that Clinton gave them the opportunity to come after him and to derail his agenda.) The “Gore type”, meanwhile, was impossible to identify with. There was a sense I had with men like Gore that they couldn’t possibly know what I had struggled with, had endured. I was certain of Gore’s decency, but not of his capacity to empathize with human weakness. And while I loathed W’s politics, I liked his life narrative, naturally because it was so similar to my own. I could identify with the “reformed bad boy” because that’s what I was trying so hard to be. (The reformed part, silly. I’d been the bad boy/black sheep for years.) And perhaps narcissistically,I suspected that a great many Americans felt the same way: repulsed by Clinton, befuddled by Gore, inspired by Bush’s story (if not his wooden rhetoric or his conventionally right-wing views). On a purely archetypal level, W. had an appeal that the other two didn’t.
For the record, I voted for Ralph Nader.
A decade on, I can only imagine how different our world would be if Al Gore had prevailed in that disputed Florida recount. And a decade on, we learned this week of Al’s separation from Tipper, his wife of 40 years. At Feministing, Miriam asks a sensible question about the media response to the news:
…why does it have to be framed as a failure when a marriage ends? The questions about what went wrong display this narrative perfectly. I hate how we shape relationships around the premise that if two people don’t go to the grave together, it was a failure. How can forty years of loving companionship be a failure? Or even two years of it?
I touched on this subject in a May 2008 post: Three Divorces, Four Successful Marriages.
A marriage is a failure if it inhibits the growth of either party; it is a success if it becomes the catalyst for individual and mutual transformation. Though all three of my divorces were painful, all three of my former marriages were, to my mind, ultimately successful in accomplishing the goal of facilitating the personal growth of the two parties involved. None were failures. I was not and am not a failure, and neither were my ex-wives.
There must be more to the definition of success than the mere capacity to endure. As Hall and Oates sang, “the strong give up and move on / while the weak, the weak give up and stay”. Marriage isn’t a marathon where you get medals merely for gritting your teeth and finishing. Marriage is a living, breathing, constantly-subject-to-renegotiation arrangement. As I wrote in another post: Quitting at the first sign of trouble is the sin of weakness, no doubt — but continuing to remain in what is loveless and lifeless is the sin of pride and stubbornness.
I don’t think that Al and Tipper are loveless and lifeless. They are clearly still friends; they have children and grandchildren in common. They have built something marvelous and enduring together. They have shaped and sharpened each other as husband and wife for forty years, and they will carry the marks of that work with them for the rest of their lives. And now, having finished the work that could be finished together, they are separating. In their grace and their generosity towards each other, they are an example to be celebrated, not pitied.
Some of us really are goody-two-shoes. I’ve recently realized that I like rules. But a high innate level of anxiety provides quite a lot of shame for even the clean-cut.
Good point, Sara. So let me clarify. The “goody-two-shoes” may well be inhibited by shame, but isn’t overwhelmed by regret. I ought to have emphasized the importance of that particular emotion.
I had people label me as a “goody-two-shoes”. It was not a label I gave to myself. I also didn’t understand why they felt compelled to label me as such and they are no longer in my life. They didn’t understand me nor did they appreciate me, but they did project a lot onto me. It was important for me to cut them loose. Funny, when I hear that word it immediately brings up a host of unpleasant memories, especially about a person who made those comments.
As for rules, I think most people like rules, unless they are a psychopath or extremely narcissistic and believe the rules don’t apply to them. I would agree with the observation about shame. I would find living with a lot of regret very burdensome. I would think the more self-aware one becomes the more difficult regret would be to manage. It could be a vicious cycle.
“Quitting at the first sign of trouble is the sin of weakness, no doubt — but continuing to remain in what is loveless and lifeless is the sin of pride and stubbornness.â€
In my experience people have to define this for themselves. People come together for all sorts of reasons and stay together for all sorts of reasons, so too with leaving. What may appear loveless or lifeless to others may not necessarily be so. Only those two people in the relationship really know.
Karen, I write from the perspective of a reformed bad boy who spent a lot of time feeling judged by those whom I thought of as “goody-two-shoes”. It’s an unfortunate reality that we live with these caricatures of ourselves, these labels we can never quite overcome. I honor your dislike of the term, and assure you it only reflected my impressions of the man a decade ago, in comparison to the president he served and to the man who would deny him the presidency many say he rightfully won.
Hugo, I suspect that many Americans who shared some of your feelings of disdain for Gore did so because of the ‘reverse slut’ prejudice that confronts men, i.e. ‘Women are looked down upon for having too many sex partners, men are looked down upon for having too few.’
Oh, goody-two-shoes have their regrets: for never having taken risks, of making enough mistakes, of pushing limits.
Call it a lack of courage if you like. As for being judgemental…well, people do grow up out of their various character flaws, or at least learn to control them. Everyone’s priorities and flaws and different, and I’m more concerned with how great the harm, than the kind of flaw.
Bush’s narrative, so appealing to you, just plain disgusted me, because it didn’t seem to change much. He struck me as irresponsible as a bad boy and cold and intolerant as a reformed sinner. How else to explain his presidency?
I have never considered W. a reformed bad boy but rather, and this is just an impression like yours was, a dry drunk. And I believe this dry drunkeness informed everything he did.
Hugo, I get that, but thank you for clarifying. It’s just funny that it’s been awhile since I’ve heard that particular label and now I’ve heard it a few times within the past few months and the recall of the person was instant and very unpleasant. And I totally get that their labeling me had everything to do with them and had nothing to do with me. The particular person who used it and the others who did as well did so due to their sexual acting out and their trying to push their agenda with me, one in which I didn’t reciprocate similar feelings.
I know that people tend to label and judge others when they are either feeling rejected or when they are trying to manipulate another person. It doesn’t necessarily mean it is true. That situaion would be a long story to tell and his impact on a relationship that I did care about was very destructive. So I don’t regret not making that mistake. I regret that I knew him at all. And I’m very glad that I had the wisdom to know it and the courage to cut them loose.
As for the presidents and politicians…well I was neutral with Gore and divorce happens. I wish them both well. Clinton repulsed me and Bush just pissed me off. And yes, I have tons of opinions and not enough time…
I appreciate your upbeat perspective on relationships. Some of them come to a natural end, which doesn’t make them less meaningful. This belief helps me find peace in the midst of grieving for friendships that have passed.
However, divorce is more complicated when there are children, even grown children, involved. This distinguishes your divorces from the Gores’ and most other midlife or senior couples who break up.
I believe you yourself wrote elsewhere about how fidelity is never a purely private matter. The married couple is part of a web of community that is torn when their relationship is revealed as broken. It’s not as simple as two people contentedly going their separate ways. It shakes up the rest of us who thought of them as our family. We wonder what other family bonds will dissolve.
Jendi, agreed. I have written before of how grateful I was that my parents divorced — and that their divorce was so amicable. It was, at the time, the least worst option.
Yes, divorce shakes up our notion of what family is. And it reminds us that the love we crave and the assurance we crave isn’t going to be found by looking to any one relationship or bond. A painful lesson indeed, but not a bad one to learn.