UNCLE BUCK'S

Yesterday, my brother invited us to go bowling in Round Rock, Texas, the suburb of Austin where I went to grade school. We met at Uncle Buck's Fishbowl & Grill Restaurant, which is an entertainment offshoot of the Bass Pro Shops outdoor chain. In fact, this Uncle Buck's was located immediately adjacent to the Round Rock Bass Pro Shop.

I am not a bowler, having only bowled once in my life back in medical school, but I was happy to go along and give the kids a chance to have fun with their cousins. We were assigned a seating section shared by those using the first and second lanes. Our group entered our names on the sign board above our lane and began to play. A few minutes later, a family of four arrived, and we shared our area with them.

The couple we shared the space with was in their thirties with two sons - one who must have been seven or eight and another who was probably fourteen. The older son had a knife strapped to his belt, and the younger one appeared to be much less of an immediate threat. Because they entered their names on the signboard, I came to know that the kids were Asher and Hayden and that the parents were Peter and Mel. They bowled one game together and shared a cheese pizza. We did not directly talk with them, but they were cordial and polite as our groups took turns bowling on our adjacent lanes. After the first game, Mel and Asher went off to play video games in the adjacent arcade while Peter and Hayden stayed to bowl a second round. What struck me most was just how normal and down to earth they were - just out for a family get-together with mom in her jeans with holes in the knees (presumably for fashion reasons, rather than poverty) and the kids not seeming to have a care in the world.

In the next lane, a biracial African-American/Caucasian family was seated. They, too, seemed quite at ease. At one point, the infant began crying, and one of the women attempted to comfort the child by showing the baby a video on the phone. It would not have been my parenting choice, but who am I to judge?

As I took in the events at Uncle Buck's over the two or so hours I was there, I came to realize that this was not just an anthropological adventure. This was a view into the heart and soul of "the real America" - hard-working people trying to live within their means and do right by their families.

It is with men and women and boys and girls like those at Uncle Buck's that our country's future will be decided. The decency and humanity I saw in those individuals gives me hope for 2020, even if they chose a different path than I would have preferred in 2016 and 2018 - if they chose at all.  I do hope that whomever emerges as the front runner in 2020 finds a way to address these families' concerns as well as they attempt to address core Democratic voters like me. For it is only by finding common ground that we will be able to make progress and re-connect the frayed ties that used to bind us. That afternoon at Uncle Buck's was just one small step in that direction.