Four years ago I was fifteen and convinced I had great understanding of the political world.  I had watched CNN, FOX, and read the occasional Washington Post article.  I had my own opinions on the Iraq War, President Bush, and the upcoming election.   I had a measuring stick that, I felt, revealed the true depth of this shallow pond of politics: every person in politics was either a liberal or a republican, and for every issue there was a “left” and “right” answer. Thus, the confusing world of politics was categorized, each item labeled, placed on a shelf, manageable, and easily understood.  I was, of course, undeniably naïve.
On a Saturday night outing with several of my closer friends to the local Applebee’s, my dreadfully limited view of politics was thrown into question, and myself into confusion.  One friend of mine, Sherri, had brought along with her a friend the rest of our group had not yet met.  He was outgoing and arrogant.  His speech was boisterous, his voice deep, and face hair, yet not without the charm of captive grizzly bears.   
This new person led most of the conversation that night, and the rest of us gave him our full attention and answered any question he posed.  At some point the topic of politics arose, and after our guest speaker finished giving his humor tinged comment on some current affair, which I have since forgotten due to importance of the question I was about to ask him.  My question would be my way of exposing this mystery under the dim swinging lights of that bourgeois diner:
“So, are you a Republican or a Democrat?” I posed, with all seriousness, expecting upon receiving an answer to have the shroud of this loquacious figure dispelled.  I can’t say that I didn’t feel proud of myself.  By posing such a question I suggested that I both understood what it meant to be a part of either party, and more importantly, I understood the secret of understanding politics, applying this binary.
Upon posing this simple question the attention of the table shifted entirely from the guest to myself.  It was the same shift of attention slamming your briefcase in the middle of church earns.  After a long second of stares laughter simultaneously erupted around the table.   
Reflecting on this incident later I realized that the opposite of my naïve belief was true: labeling does not provide any greater understanding of ideas, people, or issues, but rather awkwardly forces them into spaces they may not quite fit.  Furthermore, I realized that the labeler, instead of simply understanding complex issues, belies his or her own simplicity.
My question served as a glaring marquee simply lit with “naïf”, this along with the absurdity of the question from one who is normally just a “listener”, was what served as the object of the table’s hilarity.  This is not what exposed my self-acclaimed “wisdom” as a fraud, it was the simple answer that I received.  
“I’m neither,” I’m sure after only these two words my face was contorting to an expression of confusion, “I’m an independent.” By now the complete lack of my mental understanding was fully mirrored by my face.  Independent, an alien concept that didn’t fit into my system of thinking.  After this apocalypse, my memory of the rest of the night has been blurred.
The scale of the evening has been scaled to absurd proportions: the event itself is not what was ultimately important, but rather the result.  I began noticing that my view of politics was corroding my view of life: everything needed a label to be understood.  I was compartmentalizing friends, authority figures, relatives, acquaintances, everybody into a filing system.  I had no place for “independents”, and, thankfully, their very existence brought my inadequate system down.
I didn’t let go of this system immediately.  The Applebee’s incident was a proposal to begin looking at people for who they are rather than what they are; a proposal, which given the personal mental magnitude of that evening, I couldn’t easily refuse.  From then on I began looking politicians individually instead of what their party was doing.  I began noticing the nuances within the party, and eventually learned the labels other people gave the variations, but fought not to just recreate a more intricate mental filing system.  I began to appreciate the similarities and differences between the left and the right, realizing my beliefs were not consistent with just one side.  
My friends still mention the “Are you a republican or democrat”-evening in jest.  Reflecting back on that night, I see myself laughing at the naïve me nervously awaiting the new-guy’s response. My friends only see the comedic aspect of that night, and don’t quite understand how that embarrassing incident affected the way I view others.  It enabled me to read and relate to Whitman when he wrote, “Out of the dimness opposite equals advance…/Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.”