Truth!

I guess it’s time for me to be honest. Time to step up to the plate. Somebody call Geraldo Rivera, because we’re about to crack open the biggest secret since Al Capone’s vault.

I’m not from Idaho. I’m from California. (Pause here for dramatic effect.) I know, I can already hear the collective gasp echoing across Caldwell. Thud—half of you fainted. The rest of you dropped to your knees, screaming to the heavens, “Why, oh why, oh why?”

Okay—let’s be real. That was sarcasm. Because I’m pretty sure 99.999% of people in Caldwell already know I’m from California. It’s never been a secret. I’ve never hidden it. In fact, I’ve joked about it more than once. But for some reason, my opponent’s supporters are acting like they just uncovered proof of Bigfoot’s tax returns.

At least, that’s how they want you to take it. Apparently, they think the people of Caldwell are more concerned with someone’s birthplace than their proven performance.

But just like Al Capone’s vault, this attempt to shock you all is empty. Still, I at least pride myself on the fact that I’ve never once asked anybody where they’re from when they need me to represent them. It’s never mattered to me. I’ve never cared. So it surprises me to hear that some people do — but that’s their road to walk.

Speaking of roads, when we came to Idaho over 20 years ago, it wasn’t exactly Lewis and Clark blazing the frontier. It was a Kia minivan, 476 renditions of “I Spy,” “The Wheels on the Bus” on repeat, and a whole lot of backseat snack negotiations. We drove two days through an inch of snow to reach what we thought of as the promised land. I probably could’ve kept my California roots a “deep, dark secret” forever… until somebody put in a public records request to go through my purse — and found an 8-track of the Beach Boys’ California Girls, a bottle of Sun-In, and a half-empty spritzer of Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil.

When my husband and I arrived here with our family, we immediately jumped into public service — him at the Idaho Department of Corrections, the Canyon County Sheriff’s Office, and finally his forever home at Caldwell Police. I also worked at Caldwell Police in the records department and was fortunate to spend time with neighborhood watch groups, where I met so many of the amazing people in our community. Later, I returned to dispatching at Nampa Police, where I served for 10 years while Chad and I raised our children with the same values of service we lived by.

And guess what? It worked. Our two boys chose to serve in the United States Military — one still serving, the other now a police officer. My daughters have given deeply of themselves through volunteerism while also building their careers. From the start, we also built lifelong friendships. Our Idaho journey was filled with simple, magical moments — barbecuing with neighbors, lying on the driveway counting stars, and learning all the things this city girl never knew, like the difference between cows and bulls. And I loved it. I immersed myself in it. I never wanted to go back to the chaos of traffic, noise, crime, and dirty politics.

Incidentally, I actually grew up in a small town not unlike Caldwell. We all knew each other — and trust me when I say that if you did something in preschool, somebody remembered it on your high school graduation day. We shared the same mailman (I’m pretty sure he even came to my first wedding). We didn’t have wide-open country fields, but we did have a water tower where everyone seemed to gather, and Elephant Hill, where the younger kids built BMX tracks and the high schoolers got into mischief on Friday and Saturday nights.

We had a little corner market where my brother and I happily bought candy on my mom’s “tab.” That lasted until the bill hit $20, at which point my mom told Tom, the market owner, that our credit was officially cut off. My parents were both teachers, which meant we were always in the thick of things and never got away with much. You can imagine my horror when I landed in my own mother’s study hall and ended up with a U — for “unsatisfactory” — in talking too much. I guess some things never change. Sorry, Mom.

But the reason I tell you all this is because I don’t come from Hollywood, San Francisco, or a country club golf course. I come from a little town that I loved so much, that when I got to Caldwell, it felt like home. And I wanted to serve. My husband wanted to serve — so much so that he worked until just three weeks before he passed away from pancreatic cancer.

His commitment to this community taught me something I’ll never forget: that no matter what, no matter how you feel, no matter how people treat you, no matter how hard it is to get out of bed some days — you still show up. Because your commitment, and your word, mean everything.

And when he died, my kids and I had two choices: we could curl up on the couch and give up, or we could keep fighting, keep rebuilding, and never take for granted the support we had, the friends we had, and the opportunity to give back. I chose the latter. I created a charity in his name to help pancreatic cancer patients, and when the time was right, I ran for City Council — in the town I now proudly call my own, Caldwell.

I deeply appreciate the people who have lived here their entire lives and given back in countless ways. But their service does not diminish mine, just as mine does not diminish theirs. We can all contribute to this community in the ways we are able. And the fact that I was brought up in a small town that just happened to have palm trees (and where I met Clint Eastwood one time — don’t be jealous) does not make me any less, nor does it mean I have less of a servant’s heart than anyone else.

I never ran for council with an agenda. The only thing on my mind was serving my community. I believe in representation — much like our founding fathers envisioned it — where elected officials act as proxies for the voices of the people. I believe in accountability, transparency, and integrity. I believe in asking questions so that we all have the answers, and in showing up even when it’s hard. I believe in making decisions not just for us today, but for our children, our grandchildren, and the generations still to come.

All I have ever asked is that we be informed about growth. My critics have twisted that into me being “anti-growth.” That is simply not true. I believe in balance. I believe in information. I believe in being upfront. I believe in conversations and communication. I honestly don’t know why anyone would feel threatened by that. But if they have different ideas about how a community should be run, they have every right to run against me. That’s how democracy works.

But if you’re going to try to find a scandal on me — let’s at least make it a good one. Something worthy of a Netflix documentary. At the very least, give me something where Denzel Washington or Matthew McConaughey narrates — or maybe Samuel L. Jackson, because everyone knows I enjoy a good colorful word every now and then.

Because here’s the truth: I’m human. I’m funny. I’m a real person. I’m not really a very good politician — I probably relate way too much with my community to be much good at politicking. But here I am, your representative. At least until January… unless you vote me back in on November 4.

Now, I understand that with this shocking revelation about my California roots, some of you may need to reevaluate your opinion of me — and I totally get it. But I wanted you to hear it from me. And if you’d like to talk about it, I’ll be happy to set up an appointment with my therapist and we can all go together.

Thank you, Caldwell — for giving me the opportunity to be here. Thank you for not kicking me out 20 years ago. Thank you for supporting me when my husband died, for loving my kids, and even for sending me cards when my dogs died. Whether or not I’m elected again, it has been the honor of my life to serve you and to be part of this community. I value each and every one of you — no matter who you are, no matter your name, no matter how you look, and no matter where you come from.

And fair warning: If you pull up my campaign finance report, you’ll see a donation from California. Nobody panic, nobody take cover — that’s my mom. Because even 52 years later, she still believes in me… and apparently still feels guilty for cutting off my candy tab at Tom’s Market.

So if you’ve made it this far, and you think I’ve earned your support, I’d love your vote on November 4. Until then — I’ll see you around Caldwell and in the meantime, you can stalk me here:

www.dianaforcaldwell.com