I survived, and barely a whisper of the name was uttered.
Personally, I find that it is counterproductive to beat me over the head with every brain-dead thing I may say or do, and a surefire way to get me to stick to my guns. So I decided to take the high road with my Father.
As many news outlets feel compelled to drink at the fount of every misguided whatever-he-happened-to-be watching influenced action the 45th makes. He’s like a pillow, he seems to take on the imprint of whoever he was in contact last. Anyways, I’m sure my Father is well versed on his Presidents, um, finer qualities. And, maybe silence is golden and sends a far different message.
One would think by some media outlets fascination with documenting every stupid thing (and there is a natural spring of it to drink from) that they believe the alt-rightist who voted the dude in are deaf, dumb and blind. My Dad is none of those things. Yet, they tirelessly feel compelled to illuminate the misguided masses, over, and over, and over, and over.
Maybe they are just preaching to the choir a bit.
So over the weekend, Dad and I for Easter didn’t mention the man once. That sister of mine though finally struck, and we parked in the driveway after running up to the store in town, and continued our brief discussion. I cut it short, and just before I got out, I said: “I don’t want to hear that name outside this truck, you got me“! She had been chomping at the bit to relay Dad’s reaction to my recent posts on him, especially “How To Make Sweet Tea“. I think she just takes a bit of glee when he’s angry or upset with me – it’s a sibling thing, as I’m older.
But she did say he liked “Sweet Tea”, just not the other.
She mentioned something that caught me off guard though, and that is that she thought I’d written it to them, them as in Dad and MsB, and that was not in my thoughts at all. I hadn’t even considered, or perhaps realized, how much I had thought of Easter, and Dad, and this whole mess playing out down in the land of my birth. I respect their views, and I really didn’t think at the time I was writing it for Dad. Though when I went back and reread my words, in fact, some part of me had been writing it to him. Maybe to remind him, before he forgets all the stuff he told me about why he wasn’t racist.
And I said to her that I want to build a bridge with my words, not a wall. So I decided to change my approach is all. I mean, everyone disagrees at some point or other, even with those whom you love very much. Dad and I have disagreed on lots of stuff. Right now everyone has chosen a side, for good or ill, but I don’t want to. Or rather, I don’t feel compelled to bash everyone over the head with what I may or may not think of that man.
Whether one agrees with the man or not, the United States of America is deeply divided, and THAT concerns me, it is their Achilles heel, their weakness – divided we fall together we rise?
Well, though, to be fair, the media is only responding to what sells, and this man has a knack of always being front and centre. I think it was Barry Gordy of Motown who once said that “any publicity is good publicity“.
And it is getting worse. Day after day, week upon week, month upon month, this bull in a china shop rolls on through, bashing aside all those who may oppose. Some days many go to bed wondering if WWIII will have broken out overnight, only to awake and find out the boats were actually on their way Downunder, and not over yonder east. Oopsy they say, me bad.
Nauseating, like some demented rollercoaster ride.
Yet, despite all that, Easter with Dad went well. We laughed, we talked about Dogs and Frogs and my sisters awful gourmet scalloped potatoes (which actually were quite tasty the next day as left-overs), we watched the river go by, and not once was that name mentioned. No issues of the day darkened the sunshine, and we simply gathered round that old dining room table and shared a meal together.
The way I see it, that man wants to build a wall? I’ll build a bridge. He wants to destroy the planet? I’ll plant a tree. He wants to ignite fear and hate? I’ll spread compassion. I was never that good at playing along anyhow, never quite mastered following the crowd. ¯_(ツ)_/¯
Filed under: essays, Family Tagged: U.S. Politics
