Bridging the Divide

It was a brisk November evening, and the small town of Willow Creek sat still under a canopy of clouds, the streets quiet, save for the soft hum of distant voices and the occasional passing car. Tom Mitchell stood by the window of his family’s modest farmhouse, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the last traces of sunlight clung stubbornly to the sky. Inside, the television droned on in the background, broadcasting the latest updates from the election results.

This election felt different to Tom, heavier somehow. In his sixty-eight years, he had seen many elections come and go, witnessed the rise and fall of political promises, and weathered the divides that elections inevitably brought to the surface. But this time, the divide wasn’t just on television or in the papers—it was in his home, in the very air he breathed.

Tom’s youngest son, Ben, had moved back home after college, bringing with him a whirlwind of ideas and ideals that Tom couldn’t quite keep up with. They had spent many nights around the dinner table, voices raised, both trying to bridge the gap between them but often failing to do so. Ben, idealistic and full of passion, had thrown himself into politics, canvassing for a candidate who represented change, equality, and hope for the future. Tom, a lifelong farmer who had spent decades trying to keep his land afloat, had cast his vote for the incumbent—a choice rooted not in ideology, but in fear of losing the life he had built, the one thing he knew how to do.

Tom ran his hand through his thinning hair and turned away from the window, his eyes settling on the family portrait hanging above the fireplace. It was from years ago, when his wife, Linda, was still alive. The kids had been young then, their faces full of innocence and promise. Now, things were different. The world felt different.

Ben burst into the room, his phone in hand, excitement dancing in his eyes. “Dad, they’re about to call it!” he said, breathless. He was practically vibrating with energy, his idealism so palpable it filled the room. Tom nodded, offering a half-hearted smile, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure how he’d feel about the outcome—no matter who won.

They sat together in the living room, the television flickering in front of them. The tension in the air was thick, and Tom could feel his heart beating faster than it had in years. He stole a glance at Ben, who sat on the edge of his seat, hands clenched tightly, his face a mixture of hope and anxiety. Tom couldn’t remember ever feeling that kind of energy about politics when he was Ben’s age. Back then, life was about survival, about working the land and making sure there was enough food on the table for his family. Politics had always felt like something distant, something that happened in big cities and didn’t much change the day-to-day grind.

But now, the election felt like everything was at stake. Not just for Ben, but for Tom too.

The news anchor’s voice rang out, announcing the projected winner. Ben shot to his feet, his face lighting up with joy. “He did it! We did it!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. Tom watched as his son’s exuberance filled the room, his eyes brimming with tears of relief, of hope.

But Tom felt none of that. Instead, a hollow weight settled in his chest. He stood slowly, his body heavy with the years of hard work and worry, and turned off the TV. The silence that followed was suffocating. Ben’s joy dissipated as he noticed the look on his father’s face.

“Dad?” Ben asked, his voice tentative. “Aren’t you happy? This is good. This means things can change. For all of us.”

Tom sighed deeply, sinking back into his chair. He didn’t want to ruin this moment for Ben, but the truth was hard to suppress. “Son,” he started, his voice rough with emotion, “I know you believe in this. I can see it. And maybe you’re right. Maybe things will get better. But I’m scared. I’ve lived through more elections than I care to count, and every time, I’ve heard people say things will change. But for me, for this farm, it’s just gotten harder.”

Ben stared at him, the excitement in his eyes dimming, replaced by confusion. “But, Dad, this isn’t just about the farm. It’s about fairness, about giving people like us a chance. This guy—he wants to help people like you.”

Tom shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure anyone really knows what people like me need anymore. All I’ve ever wanted was to keep this place running, to hand it down to you and your sister, to give you something real. But the way things have been going, I don’t know if there’s going to be anything left to pass down.”

The weight of his words hung between them, heavy and unspoken for so long.

Ben stood there, his eyes searching his father’s face for some kind of understanding, some way to bridge the gap that felt as wide as an ocean between them. “I know you’re scared, Dad. But things have to change. We can’t just keep holding on to the way things have always been. That’s what’s gotten us into this mess.”

Tom’s jaw tightened. “And what if the change you’re so sure of takes everything away from us? What if it leaves us with nothing?”

The silence stretched between them again, thicker this time, heavier. Ben’s eyes softened, and he sat down next to his father. “Dad,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to lose this place either. But maybe there’s a way forward that you can’t see yet. Maybe this isn’t about choosing between what we have and what’s coming. Maybe it’s about finding a way to bring both together.”

Tom looked at his son, really looked at him, and for the first time in years, he saw not just a young man full of ideals, but a reflection of his own younger self—the version of him that had wanted to make a better life, a different life, for his family. Maybe Ben was right. Maybe the future wasn’t about losing everything, but about holding on to what mattered most and finding a way to adapt.

The election had divided them, just like it had divided the nation. But in that quiet room, with the weight of the world pressing down on them, Tom realized that maybe the hardest thing wasn’t choosing sides. Maybe it was learning how to move forward together.

“Maybe,” Tom said slowly, “maybe you’re right.”

Ben smiled, a small, tentative smile, but one that felt like the beginning of something new. They sat in silence for a long time, the flicker of the TV off and the quiet of the farmhouse wrapping around them, both men searching for common ground in a country that had become anything but united.