Core of Conviction : My Story (9781101563571)

by Bachmann, Michele

  But I will give liberals credit for this much: Sometimes the personal is indeed political. If the American people, in their personal lives, need to be thrifty and prudent or else risk bankruptcy and ruin, Uncle Sam too should be thrifty and prudent. If people shop at garage sales and secondhand stores, if they go online to eBay and other bargain-hunting sites, if they wait till the day after Christmas to buy presents—then surely the federal government too should pick up some pointers on how to lower its spending. The basic rules of common sense apply equally in Washington, D.C., and in Stillwater. The difference, unfortunately, is that the people in Washington don’t seem to think these rules apply to them. And as long as the American people let Washington get away with such arrogant thinking—taxing, borrowing, money printing, avoiding the tough choices that the rest of us constantly have to make—then, of course, Washington will never stop its profligacy.

  During the nineties, whenever I had a free moment, I could be found reading everything from political philosophy to Investor’s Business Daily. At the same time, I would listen to the music of Bach—and I should note that I was a fan even before I met Mr. Bachmann! I enjoy Bach and Handel because I find it soothing to think that mortal men could compose such immortal melodies. And the rest of us, too, can enjoy this music across the centuries.

  So there I was, sitting in the backyard and studying current events, feeling increasing concern—and growing stronger in my determination to do something positive. In particular, I followed the news about Bill Clinton’s presidency with greater and greater alarm. And not just the scandals and the impeachment trial but also the even more ominous news about an evil new figure on the world stage, Osama bin Laden. In 1998, when I heard about Al Qaeda’s terrorist attacks on two U.S. embassies in East Africa, I remember thinking, This is going to get a lot worse before it gets better.

  And during that same decade, the nineties, I realized once again that the government was often hurting us, not helping us. The politicians and the bureaucrats in both St. Paul and Washington were using our tax money to make our problems worse. I asked myself: What is wrong with this picture? What terrible things are they doing with our taxes? Marcus and I had homeschooled our kids for many years, then sent them to Christian schools, and yet we kept hearing from other parents that some public schools were not only inflicting harmful values on kids but also watering down the curricula. And so I became an education activist, fighting against the government-imposed Profile of Learning, an effort that took me to that fateful Republican district convention in Mahtomedi on April 1, 2000.

  As I grew busier, the child-rearing responsibilities were increasingly shared with Marcus. We have always been a good team, as husband/wife and parents. Marcus and I each did what had to be done, so each carried out nontraditional roles. Our focus was taking care of the kids and getting the job done, not on who should own each task. Back during our wedding sermon, we had been told that it is often said that in marriages, it should be 50–50. But that was wrong, our pastor said. We need to each be prepared to give everything. We took that to heart, and each of us has striven to give 100 percent to the family. I think that’s the key to why our family works, because we each do whatever is needed to get the job done. If I was in St. Paul or later in Washington, D.C., or out on the campaign trail, Marcus took care of the kids and our business. He always did everything he could—but now he did even more. And with his own brand of enthusiasm.

  It was Marcus, a real steady-eddie, who held the fort. Every night, no matter where I was, he would have dinner ready at home. On school nights, our kids were not allowed to watch TV, although we made an exception for American Idol. He kept the TV and the computer in the family room, next to the kitchen, making a point of always being nearby to keep an eye on things. If any of the young adults wanted to talk, he would be there for them. He knew that sometimes they wanted to chitchat, just to get out of going to bed, but that was a fair trade. Marcus knew that if a teenager started talking, he or she would eventually open up, and an observant parent would quickly figure out if anything was wrong. As they say, quality time occurs within quantity time. And Marcus spent quantity time with our kids when I had to be in Washington. We also observed that as much as our children needed us when they were little, it seemed that they needed us more as they neared adulthood, because they needed our minds and attention. They needed to know we were dialed in to them, paying close watch, providing guardrails for their decisions. We were blessed. They were raised with restrictions, yet they became very happy, confident, young adults.

  During holidays, he would make sure that the kids helped with the Christmas decorations, inside and outside; he would make sure that they sent their Christmas cards, that they remembered their duties as a Secret Santa to someone else. The proper observance of holidays, of course, is the great joy of family traditions. In addition, such observances are comforting and reassuring to children.

  Marcus and I agreed that the world imposes adult situations too early and quickly on kids. We thought, “We can’t let them lose their childhood.” So the movies that we let them watch were always on the wholesome side—anything without bad language or adult situations was okay. We also enjoyed My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and That Thing You Do. And, of course, the Narnia movies. Every Christmas, we would watch It’s a Wonderful Life. Now, when Marcus walks in through the garage door after driving home from work, I often say, “Welcome home, Mr. Bailey!” We also have made it a point to see, almost every year, A Christmas Carol at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis. That’s a show, and a story, that just keeps getting better and better. We loved the positive moral and ethical vision of Charles Dickens and the high quality at the Guthrie.

  Or course, kids being kids, and families being families, there’s always an unpredictable impishness. For example, the baby of the family, Sophia, didn’t understand how goldfish could breathe in water, and she’d want to pull them out of the water and into the air so they could “breathe.” So someone had to come and grab the fish as they flopped around and put them back in the bowl. But once Lucas put some pieces of chicken in the microwave, cooked them up, and then showed them to her, saying this was what happened to the goldfish once they were out of the water. “Not a fish! Deedee, not a fish!” Sophia wailed, till Lucas explained to her that it was just a joke.

  Indeed, Marcus himself was not immune to the imp impulse. As we celebrated our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, he looked at me and deadpanned, “You know, we might have a chance. This thing might actually work out.”

  As the kids grew older, it was time for them to take on responsibilities of their own. Marcus decreed that every summer, the kids had to either get a job or do volunteer work somewhere. And so they all were busy. All across Stillwater, young Bachmanns were mowing lawns, busing tables, hostessing at restaurants, volunteering at hospitals and Bible camp—you name it. But always busy—it was expected.

  No matter what happens to me or to Marcus, he and I agree: Those kids will always be the proudest accomplishment and legacy of our lives.

  In the meantime, Marcus’s career was advancing. In 1995 he earned his PhD and thereafter we launched Bachmann & Associates, a Christian counseling service. I was cofounder of the company and have been involved in the business side of its operations. As I like to say, I have signed both sides of a paycheck, the front and the back. That is, I have endorsed paychecks made out to me, and at Bachmann & Associates I have signed paychecks going to others. Our company has been a success; we have created some fifty jobs. Yet even as I was learning about job creation, I was being reminded, yet again, of the challenges that small businesses confront. Taxes, regulation, bureaucrats: I’ve dealt with ’em all. So whenever I speak to a gathering of the National Federation of Independent Business, I can truthfully say, “My husband and I have walked in your moccasins. In fact, we still are walking in them—or trying to.”

  But in our business we will never apologize for being p
ro-life and promarriage, and we want everyone to know that we approach all our work from a Christian perspective. We are respectful and honoring of every person entering our clinic. We make no secret of the fact that we endorse biblical values and integrate biblical principles into our counseling.

  For years, even before we were married and all through our marriage, we had been actively speaking to and contributing aid to unwed mothers as we helped them find the strength to carry on with their pregnancy. These expectant mothers, most of them, were teenagers; as newlyweds, we reached out, on an informal, one-to-one basis to help and encourage young women to choose life. We never judged, only helped as best we could. And we prayed and prayed and prayed. We beseeched God to help these mothers to keep their babies, not only till birth but after that, if possible. But if that wasn’t going to be possible—and it often wasn’t—then we would help as best we could to find a new home for that child and a new start for the mother. We drove them to pro-life adoption agencies, and I even helped one woman through her childbirth experience—again, strictly as a volunteer, trying to support this courageous mother’s decision, after being abandoned by the baby’s father, to stick to it and choose life.

  I must say, Marcus’s therapeutic work opened my eyes to the myriad troubles that people were confronting in the modern world. These troubles included syndromes that I had never heard of as a child, such as anorexia and bulimia. Marcus did everything he could in his counseling, but he and I still wanted to do more. We thought about it and prayed about it, and we knew we had the energy and capacity to open our hearts and home to people who had need. It was risky. We had little kids to think of, but we still wanted to be part of the solution for people who were hurting and who needed help.

  During the nineties, we learned of friends at church who were accepting foster children into their homes. Marcus and I agreed at the same instant—that’s what we want to do as well. We began by providing short-term care for girls with eating disorders who were patients in a program at the University of Minnesota. These girls moved into our house—the house didn’t get any bigger, but our hearts were broken for these girls and their families, and we wanted to help. As Psalm 68:6 tells us: “God setteth the solitary in families.” Well, that’s exactly what He did in our home.

  Marcus and I knew that this was the last stop for some of these girls before they finished high school. We weren’t trying to save the world; we were just trying to give consistent care and love to some kids in need of a new start. That is, to show them a home where the dad comes home from work each day and kisses the mom. This is what it looks like when husband and wife cherish each other; this is what it sounds like in a family that doesn’t pretend to be perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but which was open to helping to heal the hurt in a few kids’ lives.

  For their part, our biological kids were good sports through the whole experience. Yes, we had to bunch them up in bunk beds to make room for the new kids, and yes, we had to form long lines to use the bathroom. But our kids shared in our passion for helping others, so everything was fine. It’s sometimes said that homeschooled kids grow up being naive about the world; I don’t think that’s true, and I know for sure that our kids grew up knowing about the many challenges of adolescence. In fact, Marcus and I are confident that such knowledge has armored them.

  The girls moved in with us and became part of our family. Most stayed with us for about two years; the shortest stay was a few weeks, the longest three and a half years. They had the same chores as the rest of the kids. And so we all learned to grow and adjust. I hope that many more families too, as they are able, will find it in their hearts to accept foster kids. If they do, they will find it a deeply rewarding experience. But that’s not to say it’s easy. We had all the sorts of difficulties that one might expect from teenagers, but that goes with the territory of parenting any teen.

  We had as many as four girls at once, so that’s four plus our five biological kids, making a total of nine. Quite a crew! Marcus had been working with people all his life—he was a natural! We eventually had to move a wall to make a bigger kitchen to accommodate our burgeoning census.

  Some of the foster kids asked if they could go to Christian schools, but state law required them to go to public school. I am proud to say that all of our foster kids graduated from high school.

  And yet at the same time, I came to be concerned about some of the curriculum they brought home. One day, when one of our girls came home and showed me her eleventh-grade math “homework,” which was just coloring in a poster, that was my decisive moment on the path to school-reform efforts. If anyone needed a leg up in life, I realized, it was these girls, as well as other at-risk young people. And increasingly, I was worried that academics seemed to be displaced by curricula that imposed politically correct attitudes, values, and beliefs. That’s not an education; that’s an agenda. And a loss for the kids’ future.

  Of course, people ask many more questions about our foster kids. We love them and their families, always. Those girls were each a unique blessing and a gift to us, and we know that their parents also loved those girls, even amid family challenges. But those kids have been through enough. They have a right to privacy. They have all had challenging lives, and surely they don’t need be pushed into the spotlight. No doubt curious reporters will pursue them, but Marcus and I wish they wouldn’t. Just as we encourage foster care, we also pray that all of our foster children will be able to get on with their lives without embarrassment or harassment.

  So those are our twenty-nine kids. The five biological children who are here with us, the sixth who is in heaven, and the twenty-three foster kids. We love every one of them and are proud of each of them.

  Today, our foster children are grown and launched into the world, and our biological children, too, are out of the house. Now, for the first time in twenty-nine years of parenting, our parenting responsibilities are no longer daily. Dare I say, “Bring on the grandkids”?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Stillwater Activism

  IT was the declining quality of education—ominously visible in Minnesota by the nineties, and in America as a whole—that proved the decisive factor in getting me into politics. There would be no stillness in my life in Stillwater.

  As a kid back in Waterloo, I had always enjoyed taking the Iowa Tests of Basic Skills. Every year, we would sharpen our number 2 pencils and hear the familiar instructions, always the same: Fill the oval, don’t mark outside the lines. I was proud that the famous tests, offered nationwide, were produced by the University of Iowa, located in, of all places, Iowa City. It was Iowa all the way! I instinctively believed that tests were a good idea, because some things should be measured. After all, if you want to improve something, you have to be able to measure its progress—to see whether or not it has really improved. Also, as a kid, I was always proud that Iowa placed first in the nation. So I would pull out my trusty pencil and happily start scratching away on the tests.

  But if tests are a good thing, there’s still a danger in centralized testing. And in my lifetime, the benefits of testing have often been lost, especially when the testing—and the judging and the controlling—are administered by a distant bureaucracy. We should all seek to measure and improve ourselves, but at the same time, we should rightly fear the power of one-size-fits-all “improvers.” When Marcus and I were raising our children, we wanted to know exactly how well they were doing. But we didn’t need the federal government to test our children; we would test them ourselves.

  Happily, my husband and I were to various degrees able to homeschool our five biological kids—the boys for longer periods of time, and the girls until they were proficient in reading. And then we sent them to Christian schools. Marcus and I believed that if we taught the kids to read, they would be able to succeed in school, and they have. But at the same time, we could see that other parents might not be so fortunate. Indeed, it w
as both a shame and a waste that while governments at all levels were spending increasing amounts of money on the public schools, the federal government’s regulatory burden, piled on top of the schools, increased much faster than federal aid. These “unfunded mandates,” as they are called, proved to be an enormous weight on local schools. We knew plenty of motivated teachers and administrators, and yet the educational bureaucracy was grinding them down into defeatism and fatalism.

  During this same time, in the early nineties, a new idea, charter schools, came onto the scene. Charter schools are a sort of public-private educational hybrid in which the charter school—run, perhaps, by a motivated group of experts, activists, and parents—could contract with the government to run a school independently of the traditional public school system. I have always believed that parents should be able to choose the school that their child attends, just as we are empowered to choose most other things in our lives. Charters were therefore a creative and constructive step in the right direction—toward full autonomy for responsible parents and local communities.

  One idealistic education activist in Stillwater was a man named Dennis Meyer. A former junior high school teacher, Denny had a vision of improving education by returning to the traditional verities of reading, writing, and ’rithmetic. So in the fall of 1993, Marcus and I joined with Denny and other motivated neighbors to open the New Heights Charter School; immediately, some two hundred students signed up. Denny was the CEO, while I served on the board of directors. Our goal was simple: We wanted to provide the best possible education for children in the area, based on sound and proven principles. We wanted rigor. We wanted our kids to gain knowledge, facts, and information. We also wanted a special emphasis on help for kids with troubled backgrounds—and that was a lot of kids, even out in the leafy suburbs. Most of all, we wanted to impart the classical building blocks of knowledge for each student, not the latest fads and attitudes to emerge from an ivory-tower school of education.