There’s an old word I’ve been turning over today, and it’s reckoning.
Most people hear it and think of judgment. They think of somebody getting what’s coming to them. Some folks are hoping for just that tonight, and they’ve got a certain somebody in mind.
But the word started out plainer than that. To reckon is to count. A shopkeeper reckoned his accounts at the end of the day. A ship’s navigator reckoned where he was by adding up his speed, his heading, and the hours gone by. A reckoning was an honest adding up, and it told you where you stood, whether you liked the answer or not.
That’s what tonight is. All across this country, people are adding it up. They’re counting by hand and by machine, one precinct at a time. For months we’ve all been told what’s going to happen. We’ve had the polls, the pundits, and the fellow at the diner who knows for sure. Now the guessing has to give way to the count, and the count doesn’t care who was the loudest.
There’s a kind of relief in that, if you’ll let it in. Every other day of the year, we argue about what the people want. Tonight, the people have answered. It may not be the answer you wanted, and it may take days to get all of it. But it’ll be a number with names and signatures behind it, and that’s worth more than all the talk that came before it.
Now, here’s where the old meaning gets harder on us. A reckoning doesn’t only count the other fellow’s accounts. A shopkeeper who only checked his customers’ bills and never his own would be broke by spring. So tonight, while you’re watching those maps change color, try adding up something closer to home.
Add up how you’ve treated people this past year. Think about the friend you stopped calling, and the brother you quit talking to over a yard sign. Think about the neighbor you decided was your enemy because of one thing he said. Think about the things you passed along because they made you feel good, without ever checking whether they were true. Nobody’s counting those but you, and that’s why they’re worth counting.
Some of you are going to wake up happy this week. That’s all right, and you’ve earned the right to be glad. But the people who lost didn’t vanish. They live on your street. They’ll be behind you in line at the hardware store. How you carry a win will be remembered a good deal longer than the win itself, so carry it like a grown person.
Some of you are going to wake up sick about it. I understand that too. You did your part, and it may not have come out your way. That doesn’t make your vote wasted, and it doesn’t make your country gone. There’s another election coming, as there always has been. The sun will be up, and the dog will still need letting out. You’ve got people who need you steady.
And no matter how it comes out, the bills will still be due. Whoever wins, your groceries won’t be any cheaper by Friday. Your kids will still need raising, and your neighbor’s fence will still be leaning. A country isn’t only what happens in Washington. Most of it happens right where you’re standing, between people who have to get along whether they voted alike or not.
That’s the part of the reckoning no map can show. An election can tell us who won. It can’t tell us who we are. We find that out on the morning after, in how we talk to each other at the counter, at the church door, and across the back fence. That’s a count we take every day, and each of us adds to it.
So here’s what I’d ask of you tonight. Let the count finish. Let the people doing that work do it right, and give them the time it takes. Check the real numbers before you repeat them. If you’re tempted to say something tonight that you can’t take back tomorrow, go let the dog out instead.
And before you turn in, do your own adding up. Be honest about it, the way that old shopkeeper was with his book. See where you stand, and see what you owe, and to whom. If you owe somebody a phone call, you know who it is. That’s one account you can settle yourself, and you don’t have to wait on any county to report.
We’ll know more tomorrow, and more the day after that. Whatever the numbers say, we still have to live here together, and that part is up to us.
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This post was drafted with AI governed assistance and reviewed and directed by Michael S. Faust Sr. before publication.
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