“There’s Only One Rule That I Know Of, Babies – God Damn It, You’ve Got To Be Kind.” (Even On Twitter)

This one’s about politics; The State of The Nation Address from Duffy’s Creek. I’m going to try not to go off on too many tangents, and I’m going to try really hard to NOT offend or enrage anyone who happens to read it, no matter where you are and who you voted for. Everyone who read this blog the last time I got into politics (“I’m John Duffy and I Approved This Message: Now I’ll Shut Up” – August 2015) could rightly wish me good luck with all that. And since I’m “boost-posting” this one on Facebook (for which I pay $40 bucks and change) and tagging it with “Trump”, among other words I find unpleasant, I’m going to tell you right now, if you’ve read this far, that I’m way, way left on the political spectrum. Like two steps to the left of Nancy Pelosi, holding hands with Bernie Sanders. So there’s a pretty good chance you’re going to disagree with some of the things I have to say here. But If you stick around, I promise you that I’m just trying to open an intelligent dialogue about this whole mess of a Divided States of America, and I pinky promise three times that I won’t call you a Racist or a Nazi or a Brainwashed Cult Follower if you promise not to leave comments calling me a Libtard and a Snowflake. I have too much respect for you as a fellow human being to go there, whoever you are, and whatever you think. I hope I can earn yours in 15 minutes of reading time.

Because you know what? If you were to read my other 19 posts that aren’t about politics, you’ll find that I’m house-proud and neighborhood-proud and town-proud, and a bit of a character, just like you. I love my wife and my son and my garden and my vacation places, just like you. I have a big beautiful, friendly yellow lab named Mookie and I’ve followed the same baseball team for fifty seasons. I listen to Dylan and The Band and Van Morrison and Creedence and The Dead and still read “Blondie” and “Pickles” and “Peanuts” and “Zits” on the comics page of a newspaper that I hold in my hand while a cat that I rescued sits on my lap, the newspaper that a guy delivers to my driveway before I wake up for work at 4:45 in the goddamn morning, just like you. Yes, I live less than 25 miles from Manhattan, and yes I drive a Subuaru Outback and I have a Master’s Degree. I’m afraid I don’t much like guns or football or violent video games and I proudly voted for Bernie Sanders in the New York Primary as a registered Democrat. But I love plopping down on the couch with a couple of Oreo cookies and watching “This Old House” or “How It’s Made” on a snowy Saturday, and I have a weakness for Sausage Egg McMuffins. And maybe you do, too. Maybe we have almost everything in common except for one thing:

imgresI never saw “The Apprentice.” I would have sooner pulled out one of my fingernails. My opinion of the man who will lie through a solemn oath with his right hand on a bible this coming Friday was formed in the 1980’s, when those newspapers I held in my hand loved to tell me about this weasely clown with a bad spray tan and fake hair who was becoming famous for cheating on his wife and ripping people off on deals and being loud and saying lots of jerky things. And the only reason he was famous was because his Daddy was stinking rich (and his Daddy first made the newspapers a decade before for fighting a federal lawsuit that outed his practice of excluding people of color from renting his apartments). When I was a kid, my father saw me laughing at a comedian named Foster Brooks, whose whole act was getting laughs by pretending he was smashed drunk. He and Dean Martin would act really drunk and the laugh track would laugh, and so would I. My father told me point-blank, with an angry tone, that I had no idea how unfunny it was, that these guys were making fun of a mental illness. By that same logic, a lot of people were first introduced to Trump by his apparently getting, if not laughs, then appreciation, for being the biggest, loudest asshole in the room and yelling “you’re fired!” at people and insulting them and pitting them against each other. That stuff is just not funny to me. Narcissism is not normal to me. It’s deeply fucked up. It’s among the human characteristics that are the most disgusting to me, right up there with greed, intolerance, willful ignorance, misogyny, combativeness, dishonesty, recklessness and duplicity.

So possibly the only thing that we don’t have in common, my house-proud, town-proud, dog owning, family-loving, newspaper-reading fellow American grandchild of immigrants, is that I have no idea how you could have possibly voted for Trump and you have no idea how I possibly could have voted for Hillary Clinton.

Last February, I thought it was all over. It was The Dude’s 12th birthday and I was enjoying a visit to the Creek from my 89 year-old mother-in-law, whom I love with all my heart. Besides being as strong as a pillar of steel, she is a deeply religious woman of unfailing and unmatched moral integrity. She is the mirror I hold myself up to when I want to see if I’m doing the right thing, and most often I’m not. The primaries were just getting cranking. The American Consciousness had already been through eight months of Mexican Rapists and Build The Wall and Ban The Muslims and Bleeding From Her Whatever and we still had WikiLeaks and Pussy Grabbing and Lock Her Up to look forward to. Aware that my mother-in-law was a lifelong Republican (we stayed at her house after ours was damaged in Hurricane Sandy, and I drove her in a snowstorm to vote for Mitt Romney on Election Day in 2012, and late that night she sat quietly and smiled while Trisha and I celebrated the re-election of President Obama), I asked her who she was going to vote for. I meant in the Republican primaries. This is what she said. She said, “I’ll probably end up voting for Hillary.”

I was flabbergasted. The first time she had voted for President was in 1948. She voted for Thomas Dewey over Harry Truman. Then she voted for Eisenhower twice, then Nixon, then Goldwater, then Nixon again, then Gerald Ford, then Ronald Reagan, George Bush, Bob Dole, George W. Bush, John McCain and Mitt Romney. (I was there for that one). This is what she said on that day last February: “I couldn’t possibly vote for that man.” I bragged about it for weeks. It was my main talking point. And I let the whole ugly, national embarrassment that was the General Election come and go without writing about it on this blog because I didn’t think there was any chance that he was going to win, and probably neither did you.

Plus, an interesting phenomenon was developing as I started using Facebook to promote the blog, and it made the idea of writing about my political beliefs, or raging about the people who I see as Part of The Problem, suddenly become a difficult proposition for a Man of Peace like myself who does not enjoy confrontations and likes to be liked.

First I should say that the reason I pay Facebook to promote the blog is simply because I think that whole point of writing things is so people can read things you write, and if what you write is honest and positive, then maybe it will bring the world a little closer together as more people read what you wrote, because now you know me a little better and maybe I’ve helped you know you a little better by telling you about me. And so I’ve written stories about my little life that I live here with my pretty wife on Duffy’s Creek, and I’ve sent those stories out into the world to make people I don’t know laugh and think and nod yes, I get it; stories about our son and our dog and our hometown and my mom and my personal history and our backyard, where a creek runs through it. And  many, many of the people who have kindly clicked and liked “A Creek Runs Through It” are from what the people on TV who get paid to do nothing but talk shit have been calling “Red States” for years and years.

My last blog post was about trying to eat better food, and this great company called Our Harvest that delivers farm-fresh food right down here to the suburbs. The last three people who liked it were a white guy from Down South who liked to hunt, a Mexican guy from LA who liked modifying cars and a black guy from Baltimore who was into hip-hop fashion. I had become a teeny-tiny unifying force in a bitterly divided country. So how could I then show up on people’s Facebook pages a month later and tell them that they’re all a bunch of redneck racists if they vote for Trump? I don’t know their reasons, and I don’t know their hearts. It’s not nice. I could no more do that than insult my own mother-in-law.

She voted for Trump.

maxresdefaultAnd he won. Sort of. But I’m afraid I won’t be watching any of it on Friday. He’s not my President and he never will be. Not on Friday, not ever. If it were Hillary Clinton taking the oath of office as the first female President of The United States, I’d be in on it, and happy about it. I would have been comfortable with her (and Bill) being in charge of things again. But she wasn’t my first choice, and I could totally understand why she would make people uncomfortable about her intentions and her character, even before the Russians hacked the election and Comey tripped her and made her fall flat on her face on her victory lap. It didn’t take a lot of convincing for people to believe fake news about Hillary, because Hillary had always seemed pretty slippery. The idea that she was one person in public and another person in private was something that shocked no one in America.

But there was a fuse of pure hatred for the woman running through many segments of the population, and that fuse was lit years ago by the disgusting insinuations of her political enemies and the (sorry) outright lies reported on Fox News and the fringes of the Alt-Right Media. WikiLeaks and Putin and Comey’s Big Lie wouldn’t have set that bomb off and destroyed her candidacy if that fuse hadn’t already sown the seeds of doubt about her intentions in the minds of so many Americans. People had whispered “Crooked Hillary” in their ears for years before Trump started screaming it in airplane hangers. And as one “deplorable” that I read on Twitter pointed out rightly, if there was nothing in those emails, if she had nothing to hide, she would’ve won despite all those years of suspicion. So there. Point taken.

Nevertheless, I supported Hillary and I voted for her in the General Election, despite the fact that she and her Merry Band of Emailers cheated Bernie Sanders in the primaries, because I believed that no matter how sneaky and duplicitous she is, the Public Hillary represented my traditional Democrat beliefs.

And I suspect this is why my mother-in-law and so many other traditional Republicans voted for a guy who mocked a disabled man in public and bragged about grabbing women by the genitals. If I did either of those things at my mother-in-law’s house, I’d be banned for life. But I have to assume that she could not vote against party lines when the stakes were so high, what with the Supreme Court and all that.

And neither could I. I would never even consider it.

But if Hillary had said some of the things her opponent said, and shown herself temperamentally and intellectually completely unfit for the job, I would’ve written in Willie Nelson.

Many people stay with their parties purely for social issues. Me? I don’t care if you get an abortion. I’d prefer if you didn’t, but it’s none of my goddamn business. I don’t care who you sleep with or who you want to marry or what drugs you want to take. I don’t care what color skin my next door neighbor has, or what country he was born in, as long as he doesn’t make a lot of noise and he keeps his yard tidy. Apparently, lots of Republicans do care about these things. And in the opinion of Snowflake Northern Libtards like myself, this is how they’ve been able to get people to vote against their own economic self-interests for years and years, all the way back to Nixon’s Law and Order Crusade to crack down on the Hippies and the War Protesters and the Uppity Black People in 1968. Be the party that holds up “Father Knows Best” Values as a bright shiny object while they’re picking your pocket and smacking you in the back of the head. That’s what I believe they do, while you might believe my Democrat Party wants to take all the money you’ve ever earned and give it to abortion-getting, dope-smoking brown immigrants who you believe that I hold in higher regard than you because you didn’t go to college and I did, nyah, nyah, nyah.

So let’s take a deep breath. And I’ll tell you what I just can’t understand. And I’ll try to tell you why.

Above all else, I can’t understand the level of hatred that was leveled at President Obama. I just picked off the three images above in exactly one minute of google image searching. I had no idea that people held this level of racism in their hearts, or would possibly think this stuff is funny, but that’s because I’ve been not living in a bubble for too long. But I grew up living in a bubble, so I shouldn’t have been surprised.

From the time of its founding in the 19th Century until about 100 years later, Valley Stream, Long Island, New York, where I grew up and still live, was as white as a sparkling clean bathtub. By the time I started interacting with other kids in school, everyone was Irish, Italian, Jewish or German. (All descendants of immigrants, but we’ll get to that). Being right on the border of the NYC Borough of Queens, Valley Stream found itself in the 1970’s and 1980’s surrounded by a giant horseshoe of predominantly black neighborhoods: Rosedale, Springfield Gardens, Laurelton, St. Albans, Queens Village, Jamaica, Elmont. People were deathly afraid of Valley Stream “turning black” (which it coudn’t do unless they left), deathly afraid that some politician or judge was going to force school integration through busing. Many of those people had left those neighborhoods themselves to go to Valley Stream where they’d feel more “safe.”

So I grew up listening to my parents on the one hand, who had black friends and supported the Equal Rights Movement and revered Martin Luther King. Then I went to school and heard unimaginably racist ideas from my friends. Needless to say, I didn’t know quite what to think. The sparkling clean white bathtub was filled with toxic water. The further I went in the world, the more people I interacted with, the more I realized how toxic it was, but I had still been sitting in it for so long that it still warped my thinking at times.

In 1995, when I was 32, I took a job as a junior high school teacher in a school in Rockaway Beach, Queens, a mostly black school that served the surrounding housing projects. I can tell you that some of the kids I met there over the next nine years were often already sadly beyond hope at 12 and 13 years old, but most of them weren’t. And they quickly recognized that my heart was in the right place, and that I got a kick out of their ways and their expressions. We had a good time, and we learned from each other. But my neighbors (in Lynbook at this point, one town over) were all still white, and I still kind of thought that this was the way it was supposed to be.

Then one day, Valley Stream began to integrate. The same town where a volunteer fireman got arrested for burning a cross on a black family’s front lawn in the 1970’s now had a measurable black population, as well a growing presence of Central American immigrants, by the end of the 199o’s. Around the same time, I fell in love and got married, and my parents had begun planning a move to a lifecare facility 50 miles east in Suffolk County. My brothers and sisters were already homeowners. We had the opportunity to buy a nice little cape cod house with a 60 x 100 plot on a creek in Valley Stream for below market value. Trisha had also grown up in lily-white towns but had no reservations about the future of our neighborhood.

But I sorta did. I talked to one of my best friends, who had also come into a second-generation Valley Stream house six years or so earlier. This guy’s dad used to channel Archie Bunker a lot, great guy though he was, so I know my friend had heard different messages about race than I heard at home. But you know what he said to me? This is what he said: “People are people, Duff.” We bought the house.

And we’ve been proud homeowners in this integrated town since 2002. My son is growing up in a better Valley Stream, because it’s not a bubble. It has its problems, but trust me, it always did. And I know without question that all the toxic water in that squeaky white bathtub would have caused permanent brain damage to me if I’d stayed in it. So when a guy who has been a second-generation public racist his whole life immediately disrespects the first black President by questioning his citizenship and demanding his birth certificate, all I hear is the ignorant fools I grew up with making up all sorts of creatively demeaning names for the people on the other side of Hook Creek Boulevard. When that same guy can’t accept legitimate criticism (and the rightful questioning of his own legitimacy) from Rep. John Lewis, and instead suggests that Lewis’ district in Atlanta is a ghetto, all I can think of is all the people I know, through my job and through my neighborhood, who have more class in their brown pinkies than the President-Elect will ever have, and how he doesn’t really know a damn thing about how ordinary Americans actually live.

And, back in 2004, Mitch McConnell said they would block everything Obama tried to do and make him a one-term President. And off went Fox News and the sinister Alt-Right and their insinuations and lies. And suddenly, it’s perfectly acceptable for a fringe of the population to treat a man of color with disgusting contempt, even if he happens to be doing a pretty good job as President of The United States. And they’re easy targets for the hate-mongerers, these people, because they live in segregated bubbles, and they already didn’t like the idea of taking orders from a black guy. And I’m not necessarily talking about “Red State” people. We have plenty of them here on Long Island and right here in Valley Stream, where some of the hard-core bigots, who I assume spend a lot of time in dark rooms in their houses, like to tell you that the place ain’t what it used to be. They have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about.

A couple of months back, the Valley Stream Herald ran a story on their Facebook feed about Muslim parents and their students petitioning to have school closed on their religious high holy days, just like the Catholics and the Jews on Long Island and NYC have always had. The City has already done that. In the comments attached to the post, the first guy said, “Trump says, “Merry Christmas.” The second guy said he was sick of accommodating immigrants. Not being able to help myself getting pulled down the toilet on this one, I pointed out to the guy what the poem at the base of the Statue of Liberty says:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

 

He said something along the lines of “I don’t know what you got out of that paragraph but all I see is u have to work hard I don’t see anything about accommodating people.”

And this is why the text abbreviation “SMFH” was invented.

Because here’s the thing. People are people. And racism is learned, and can be unlearned. I’m living proof. But if the leaders and the news sources are telling people who follow them that Barack Obama is a Kenyan-born Muslim who wants to establish Sharia Law, and their people believe it, they tend to see themselves as people, and everyone else as less than people. And Trump was, in the words of Charles Blow, the Grand Wizard of the campaign to turn people’s racial suspicions into votes and cold hard cash.

In 2004, the year our son was born, I was transferred to a school in Ozone Park, Queens. The reason I was transferred is because the school I worked in was shut down. The reason the school I worked in was shut down was because the white people on the West End of The Rockaway Peninsula didn’t want their kids in school with the black kids from the projects, so they used their political influence to close my school down and replace it with a “magnet school” that could pick and choose its students. The grand tradition of Christopher Columbus continues. White people just take what they want.

In Ozone Park, where I’ve been for 13 years and survive to this day, I received a whole new education. This was a school that had become a true melting pot of colors, nationalities, religions and cultures. (One of my biggest challenges was copying everyone’s name spelled right into my grade book). Some of my best students over the years have been Muslims. Now they’re some of my best neighbors, too. I love the spirit of the Hispanic and Latino kids as well. (I could tell you the difference between these two terms if you’re not sure). You want good Spanish food from all over the Central and South American world? Come visit us in Valley Stream.

And there I am, riding in the car with my son on a day in June of 2015, in downtown Valley Stream, driving past the San Antonio Chilean Bakery and the Colombian Chicken Restaurant, listening to WCBS 880. And that guy who I wrote off as a complete asshole thirty years before, who just won’t go away,  is announcing his run for President by calling Mexicans rapists and murderers, and all I can think of is that they’re some of the nicest people I know. And I turn off the radio because it’s almost like exposing my son to some sort of sick verbal pornography. Then this same guy, people actually start voting for him, and gets people going at the rallies by saying he’s going to ban Muslims from entering the country, and all I’m thinking is how much the Muslim people who have sent their kids to my school and moved onto my block have improved the communities I live and work in, and how this guy has never improved a fucking thing in his life and has basically been pretty much nothing but an impediment to human progress for 70 years.

twitter_bird_logo_2012-svgAnd the General Election comes around, and I start following the trends on Twitter, and I discover, as many of you may have, the depths of twisted thinking that you’re sharing your country with. You read what they say and you think to yourself , Good Lord, are there really people who are that angry, that uneducated, that nasty? You know from the whole Russian Hacking thing that many of them are robots. But to me, the most terrifying thing is the notion that they’re both; semi-sentient beings who have been turned into hate-manufacturing robots by the forces of hate who inform them. Nobody is born racist. No baby ever refused to interact with a baby of a different color. This shit has been learned, preached as Gospel by cynical politicians and media who have been using it as a way of enriching themselves for my entire adult life, and in the process have destroyed the middle class in much of the country through their economic Hunger Games. And as of Friday, they have the keys to the car.

And if you’re reading this, and you truly believe that I’m a typical Libtard Snowflake, and you truly believe that your way of life, or your quality of life, is in danger because of the rise in status of minority and immigrant groups around you, and you’re not a robot planted by Russian intelligence (and we do get them on WordPress) I have only two words for you, and I hope you won’t find them offensive:

It isn’t.

But it is advantageous to your chosen government representatives and news sources that you think it is.

You should tell them to go fuck themselves, but that’s just my opinion.

0b346bff3a23c6cd58bd07bb8de7445cWhich brings me to the moment that inspired this post. The trending topic on Twitter was L.L. Bean. I love L.L. Bean. I love them so much I probably buy about $300 worth of stuff from them every year. But thanks to Twitter, I now know that a portion of that money goes from the head of the company’s ruling family direct to Donald Trump. So I tell you what: I sort of give a shit but not really. It’s not like they’re exploiting their workers. I figure most of the money I spend goes to billionaires at this point, and what billionaire doesn’t like laws that benefit billionaires? That’s the corner we’re backed into now.

So, again, whatever. It’s not going to make me love my Portuguese Cotton Flannel Shirts and Wicked Good Slippers any less.

And I totally understood why a bunch of prissy liberals whining how they’re going to boycott L.L. Bean now would be a source of amusement for country folk. One guy tweeted that the Liberals would destroy their L.L. Bean Fishing Boots if they could figure out how to.

But then there was this one guy. I know things about him that I’m not going to tell you, ’cause when you see a mental patient coming towards you on the street, it’s best not to hand him an axe. I’ll give you this much: First of all, he looks like a 19th Century dispossessed American-Indian child’s crayon drawing of a White Devil. Second of all, he has some sort of Internet Radio / Podcast thing where he helps American Become Great Again somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

This is what he tweeted: “I didn’t know L.L. Bean accepted food stamps.”

And this is what I thought: You dick. First of all, it’s common knowledge that there are more people in rural areas on public assistance than in “Blue State” cities. Second of all, why even go there? It’s just mean. Why throw people who are struggling to have enough to eat, no matter where they live and what they believe, into this particular argument at all? I suppose the only answer is to be clever, to be cute. And remember what I said earlier about people on TV and Radio who are paid for no other purpose than to talk shit? Who couldn’t survive in a real job for five minutes if the whole Shit-Talking Industry came crashing down tomorrow? This guy was exhibit A.

And here’s the punchline. His little radio show has a link to a “go fund me” site, where he recently bilked people out of $24,000 so he could continue to have a platform in which to talk shit. And he did not strike me as an uneducated man, but rather as one who has something to gain by misinforming others who may not be as well-educated. What does he have to gain? At least $24,000, plus whatever they get from the “donate” button on their website.

So here’s what it all comes down to: These people are going to keep talking. Trump and the Republican Congress are going to do what they do. You and me, we might agree, we might disagree, but I can’t stand the thought of living in a country where I distrust so many of my fellow citizens, and I bet you can’t either. I will be part of the Resistance against President Trump, the safety-pin wearin’ snowflake libtards, but my beef is with him and the people he represents, not necessarily the people who voted for him, including one of my favorite people in the world, my own mother-in-law.

I’m going to give her, and you, the benefit of the doubt, Trump voter. But not him. As I said earlier, I totally understand why people would not vote for Hillary Clinton, and I know the Democratic Party has written off large segments of the population, and I dislike very much that they’ve done that. Once upon a time, a large part of the Democratic coalition was working-class whites who belonged to labor unions. As the labor unions were eaten alive by the corporations their members worked for, those members were left out to dry and often forced into lower-paying jobs, and the Democrats seemingly did nothing to protect them. That’s one of the great shames of my party. They have others, but promoting equality, in my opinion, ain’t one of them.

If you voted for Trump, I have more than made my point of why I don’t agree with you. It’s hard for me to put any faith in a man with a trail of destruction and hate as long as his, and assuming the most powerful position on Earth with not a minute of government experience to boot.

But the fact that you have faith and I don’t is not reason for us to try to destroy, demean or demonize each other. We don’t have to be mean. We don’t have to assholes about it. We have a lot in common, from yellow labradors to L.L. Bean flannels to summer vegetable gardens to stopping everything for the World Series. We’re having roasted chicken tonight, and we watched “Barn Builders” on the DIY Network this afternoon. And remember, I’m from “Lawn Guyland.” And I’d love to move upstate when I retire, where there are a lot more Republicans. Got no problem with that.

My experience with living in a segregated world that became diverse has taught me, in the words of an Irish singin’ feller named Mike Scott, to “look twice at you, until I see the Christ in you.” Nothing has shown me that the President-Elect does this, but I’m betting you do.

And since you’ve read this far, I can now explain the quote from a great personal hero of mine, the writer Kurt Vonnegut, that I used to title this post. In his novel, “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater,” Kurt tells the story of a billionaire named Eliot Rosewater, from Rosewater County, Indiana. Mr. Rosewater becomes a hero to the local poor people of his town when he decides to give the entire Rosewater fortune away through a little office on Main Street before other members of his extended family find him legally unfit and take the fortune away from him. People come to him and he gives them hugs and advice and free money. He becomes a local hero, and is asked to be the godfather of his neighbors’ twin babies, and is asked to say a few words at the baptism ceremony.

This is what he said:

Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”

So I’m just going to shake my head at whatever goes down in this country in the next couple of years, if it goes down like I think it will, and try to keep taking the high road as I make my displeasure known. But there was something in President Obama’s Farewell Address that resonated with me, as a school teacher for the last twenty-two years and a parent for the last thirteen. If you want to be optimistic about the future of America, look at the young kids in their twenties. They don’t have the racial baggage that we grew up with. They organize. They speak up for what they believe in. They have very highly developed bullshit detectors. They love their country. They work it out.

Actually, Obama didn’t say that all that, I did. But no matter. I’ve met thousands of Americans in my lifetime, from Editors-In-Chiefs of Big City Magazines to Aspiring Little Gangsters from the NYC Projects and everyone in between. And most of them are good, no matter what the people on your news feed tell you. You know that, too. Most of the people you meet instinctively know a simple rule of life that, I’m sorry, the man you may or may not have elected President has never learned. But I have a feeling that he soon will. The bible quote, from Corinthians, generally goes, “As you sow, so shall you reap.” But Robert Hunter, the lyricist for The Grateful Dead, had a slightly different take on it, one that gives me and you hope, and should be a warning to those who continue to divide us:

“Whichever way your pleasure tends / If you plant ice, you’re gonna harvest wind.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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