A Legacy Devolved: Saturday Political Soap Box 298

 

We are often heavily influenced by political figures that are popular when we come of age.

I became politically aware younger than most. JFK and Camelot meant a lot to me, not just for what they did but also for what they promised to do.

The assassination of President Kennedy seemed to me like a dream interrupted. LBJ accomplished much of the Civil Rights agenda, only to fall way short with Vietnam.

RFK felt to me like an opportunity to restore the dream. Bobby was a more brash figure than his brother, starting out more conservative. But after the assassination, he went on a spiritual and political journey that brought him to identify more with minorities and the poor and disadvantaged. He had the rare ability to earn support from both Black and Latino voters, along with the white working class.

In my room at home, I had a poster of a quote that Bobby would often use -

This was initially said by George Bernard Shaw but made popular in my generation by RFK.

Once again, the dream was cut short by an assassination. It left me angry, confused, hopeless. Would the legacy ever be restored?

The youngest brother, Teddy, held some promise, but Chappaquiddick left him compromised. He still had a lot of good things to say, but it was hard for him to overcome what happened in that tragic accident. Although I longed for a Kennedy restoration, I stuck with President Carter in the primaries.

I looked for future generations as they entered adulthood and politics. Joe Kennedy Jr, congressman for Massachusetts, came the closest, but none quite fit the bill.

On the surface, I should have liked RFK, Jr., but I admired his earlier career in environmentalism. But then...

He kind of went off the nut.

His personal life was shaky (babysitter affairs, brain worms, adventures with roadkill). His policies were skewed towards the unacceptable. Some might consider his anti-vaccine routine acceptable or just a minor thing. I do not, not when childhood diseases are making a comeback, not when he was a significant part of the Covidiot nonsense.

So, I knew that he was not someone I could support. Some friends were upset that he was getting resistance from being on the debate stage or fighting to get on enough ballots.

If he was a ground-roots movement designed to build a vital new political party, I might have some sympathy with that viewpoint.  

But his is not. It's another rich guy's vanity project. Funding came from a consortium of right-wing billionaires. I kept being told RFK was a liberal by those who damn well knew that he was not.

Many thought he was a plant to draw Democratic voters away from Biden. I was skeptical and just thought it was narcissistic selfishness.

I was wrong.

Yesterday, he suspended his campaign and endorsed Donald Trump, even showing up at one of Trump's rallies.

Well, that rips the cover off that ball, doesn't it?

I am grateful that we don't have a monarchy in this country. We've had few families where we could safely transfer power from one family member to another.

The royal attraction is still strong in this country. John Adams to his son John Quincy Adams. Roosevelt cousins. Bush Sr to Bush Jr. The desire to go from Bill to Hilary. Those who swore until the convention that the Democrats would turn to Michelle Obama.

I am no longer yearning for a return to the Kenedys. However, I do still yearn for the politics represented by Bobby Kennedy—that progressive bent that attracts ALL the working class across all other barriers.

I see that ticket in Harris/Walz. Harris is experienced and competent speaks the right language, is strong in our various American communities, and crosses gender and racial lines. Coach Walz has a simple and direct way of communicating with the working class in ways that they can understand and identify with.

I still wonder what American History would have been like had Bobby not been assassinated and had won the Presidency in 1968. We can only conjecture. We can only dream.

But even though the dream of Bobby might be gone, and his legacy devolved by his own son, Harris/Walz convinces me that the dream is still alive.

I'm voting for Gus's Dad!

Harris/Walz 2024!!!

That's My Dad!

 

Sometimes, there are moments that seer one's soul and are etched there forever.

One such moment is watching Minnesota Governor Tim Walz's children react to his rousing acceptance speech. The open love and joy of that family are truly special, and I will never forget it.

Tim Walz is a once-in-a-generation political figure. No, not just political. He represents the very best of the fabric of American life.

He is a coach and public school teacher and has served in the military for 24 years. He has also served as a congressional representative and governor. That's great, but his best achievement is being a loving father and good neighbor.

More than any figure of my lifetime, he represents progressive politics' true nature and power. I love Bernie Sanders. I love AOC. But nobody, and I mean NOBODY, articulates it better than Coach Walz.

There were so many great things he said in his brief but effective speech (or, as he calls it, a pep talk) that it's hard to select just one.

Nevertheless, this one sticks out to me -

"While other states were banning books from their schools, we were banishing hunger from ours," said Gov. Tim Walz, the next Vice-President of the United States.

When his 17-yrar-old-boy jumped up and cried and shouted "That's my Dad!" it was a riveting, galvanizing moment. I still turn into a puddle thinking about it. Such love! Such joy! What family bonds!

And the Midwest Dad thing? It's real.

How do I know it's real?

Because I had a Midwest Dad.

No, they aren't clones. But they're close enough to bring tears to my eyes. Close enough that it almost brings me to my knees as I remember.

My Dad was a public school educator, a math teacher, and then a high school principal. He was kind and giving, dedicated to hard work for the benefit of those around him. From him, I learned more about what it really meant to be a Christian than from anyone else in my life.

I love him. I am grateful for the foundation he gave me, which I have tried to pass on to my other boys. I miss him every day.

Joe Biden made a difficult decision, showing he loved his country more than holding onto power. Kamala Harris demonstrated her incredible intelligence and discernment by picking an incredible talent like Tim Walz.

Special note:

For those who are inclined to make fun of Gus Walz, I have an important statement -

Get off my feed. Get away from me. I have no respect for you. I will block you in any way I can. Enough is enough.

I have read he is neurodivergent and may have some learning issues. I don't care - in the sense that whether he has those issues or not, I fully identify with the emotion and love he showed.

Trust me. If it had been my Dad, I would have reacted the same way.

HARRIS/WALZ 2024!!!

Staying Off the Grid

 I haven't blogged much this month.

Overall, things are going well. Both Alison and I have some minor health issues, but nothing devastating. We're enjoying life.

Benjamin is thriving in Warner Robins with his job and friends. We visit every few weeks.

My granddaughter is fantastic. She loves to call us by Facebook Messenger and share things she is excited about—Olympic Bed Bouncing, Fox Face Paint, and eating grapes off the vine. It's a joy to talk with her; we plan to see her in person next month!

I have a secondary income starting soon. Unfortunately, it's related more to accounting than creative work, but it's flexible hours and good people. 

While I did not agree with those who thought Biden was too old, I stand in great admiration for his personal sacrifice to support his country. It's one of the most selfless acts I've ever witnessed.

And what Kamala has done in the last month is miraculous. She has galvanized so much support and enthusiasm - it has even inspired this old cynic. And if her selection of her running mate is any indication of her decision-making ability - then we are in great shape. Governor Tim Walz is an amazing choice - a Midwest Dad that brings echoes to me of my own Dad. A down-to-earth Progressive who communicates well with ALL working-class Americans!

So, why haven't I blogged much?

Part of it is scheduling. I like to write in the mornings, but much of that time has been taken up by mowing, church work, and other errands. My writing rhythm is shot.

Part of it is laziness. I just haven't disciplined myself to do it.

Part of it is that I am mentally stuck on one topic and have been unable to articulate it. I need to address it, but it takes work in the county that I live in. I am trying to thread the needle between communicating my feelings and not crossing a line.

If you see me gone for a while, it's because I'm trying to tell it in a way that helps and doesn't hurt the ones who could be hurt by genuinely open communication.

Meanwhile...

please support your local public library.

The Walk Away

 Tired of all the baggage, he set off down the road.

He carried nothing with him. No backpack. No bottled water. No phone.  

He went without sunscreen. He wore blue jeans and a pale blue T-shirt. He wore slip-on tennis shoes. His socks were white and were almost to his knees.

He left when the temp was 93, the feels like skirting 105, the humidity near 80%.

He did not know where he was going, but going he was.

When he left, no one else was home. Melissa worked, and the kids were in school. He left no message or explanation.

After just one block, he was already feeling the effects of the heat. He suffered heat exhaustion very easily. Normally, he would not go out in heat like this, except maybe to pick up the mail.

Melissa worked. He did not. Not since the incident. Not since his small mistake. Twelve years of devotion flushed down the toilet with one error in judgment.  

And now he made no contribution to his family. He was a useless fifth wheel, draining resources. All his efforts turned to naught. It was hard finding a new job when you were fired from the last one for slugging your boss.

Only a block away from home, and he was already feeling the effects of the heat. He didn't sweat much. It would help if he did. He just felt disoriented.

Three blocks away, he turned to the woods. The shade helped. The swarm of bugs around him did not.

None of that deterred him from continuing to walk.

He crossed a creek. Even though the water was only ankle deep, it was enough to soak his shoes, making them sticky and damp.  

There must have been wildlife in the woods, but besides the buzzing insects, he saw nothing. A snake or a bear was too much to hope for.

By the time he reached the edge of the woods, the sun was starting to set. There was a stretch of farmland, a blueberry orchard. No fruit was in sight—it was not the season. He wouldn't have eaten if it had. There was no need to prolong this.

He found a dirt road and continued down it. It was day again, growing hotter. His brain baked.

He collapsed, twenty miles from home. Not an epic journey, but long enough.

A farmer found him. 911 was called, and he was brought to a hospital. He was feverish and dehydrated, but they soon rectified it.

No one could identify him.  

He had failed. And the hospital bill would cost his family.

He may remain unidentified, but how does that help Melissa collect the life insurance?

He could not walk away from his baggage. He had to go back and do the best he could.

He got up from his hospital bed, pulled out the IVs, and started to walk.

This time, hopefully, the right way.