Mary Kettl

For the second time in a month, the nation was gripped with patriotic fever as friends and loved ones gathered in front of their big screen televisions to watch the pageantry and spectacle of the Democratic National Convention, an event which is kind of like the Olympics, only less interesting and no one wears a leotard.

The convention's official Web site, demconvention.com, invited us to "watch history unfold!" perhaps forgetting that history, like highway maps and fitted sheets, can be annoying and difficult to unfold, refold, and then put away on a shelf. History also often takes more than a few days to unfold, which is why the Peleponesian Wars never had a Web site.

Although I have lived in Minnesota for the last few years, I have remained an enthusiastic Wyoming Democrat. When Minnesota people catch a glimpse of my Wyoming driver's license - with the attractive artwork that makes my head appear approximately the same size as Devils' Tower - they sometimes look at me accusingly, forcing me to deny three times the red state of my birth.

"Who is this man, Cheney?" I say in an unusually loud voice. "I knoweth him not!" Even though everybody knows that our dearest neighbors in Casper are relatives of Mr. Cheney and that, whenever the Vice President comes to our cul-de-sac, we all stand in our front yards and wave like crazy.

As a well-known Wyoming Liberal - there are almost enough of us to fill a minivan now - I naturally assumed that I would be invited to speak at the National Convention. Sure, I wasn't a nominee or an elected official, but if anyone would qualify as an "at large" delegate, it would be me.

But watching speaker after speaker trying to give inspirational speeches to an audience of thousands of people who were mostly moving around and talking to their neighbors reminded me a little too much of my first week of teaching seventh grade, and I knew I would be tempted to grab the microphone and start getting people back on task: "Hey, you! Pennsylvania! Sit down and listen! Yeah, Kansas, you need to quit poking them and get your work done."

One of the purposes of the political convention, besides the rather frightening use of a giant video screen to make people think that Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi is as tall as an office building, is to hammer out a party "platform," the "planks" of which metaphorically represent a party's positions on the different issues of the day. Democrats, for example, are largely anti-war, pro-choice, pro-environment, pro-health care, and definitely in favor of the distribution of fluffy kittens and aromatherapy candles to all who apply.

These are my people.

Ours is not so much a platform as a sundeck, where the Democrats hope to have everyone over to meet in small groups to talk about sharing and self-esteem.

Another reason to go to a national convention, as anyone who has ever sponsored a car wash knows, is because it's so much fun to wave big tagboard signs in the air, although probably less thrilling when you notice that everyone else in your section is waving the exact same sign as you are, which makes you think it might be OK to sneak out into the lobby for a minute to find a pop machine. The signs, mostly blue, proclaimed such sentiments as: "Renewing America's Promise," "Change We Can Believe In," "A Strong Middle Class," "Kennedy" and the poorly punctuated but touching near rhyme of "McCain More of the Same." Ironically, the convention's major theme, "unity," was demonstrated by giving everyone their own "Unity" sign to wave instead of just purchasing one very large banner and encouraging people to squeeze in around it.

Most days in government, the political process can be sort of dull, what with all that moving and seconding and ayeing and naying going on. It's usually something that only people who owned their own copies of "Roberts' Rules of Order" in high school might understand or enjoy.

But this convention had flash, including a huge lighted sets and a gameshow-type announcer who said things like, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Ohio governor Teeeddd Strickland!" I kept expecting elected officials to come bounding up the steps to bid $499 for a washer-dryer.

As Democrats, we are not accustomed to flash and pizazz - we're more of a "bring a covered dish to share" people - and at the finale, as the movie music soared, fireworks went off, and tons of fair-trade confetti fell on the candidates and their families, you could just tell that they were wondering if enough people had signed up for the clean-up committee and whether they should get some help with the folding chairs.

It's sort of a relief to have the Democratic National Convention over with, to see delegates heading for the exits and to thus be spared the further sight of older ladies in pantsuits and unfortunately large cowboy hats dancing to "Love Train." But if I had gotten to go, I would have danced with all of them.

Mary Kettl is a junior high teacher in Newcastle. She lives in Custer, S.D.