RumourNation

The GOP (Grand Old Perjoratives)

I have to 'fess up to being on the fence about national healthcare.  I spent a fair amount of time working for a Canadian company, hearing on the sly about the underbelly of a nationalized system:  it was a little worrisome.  On the other hand, as a single parent who has had to scramble for coverage during a few periods when I've been doing consulting work -- funny how the lack of an outside employer does not relieve you of responsibility for a child! -- having some help with this would indeed be a relief. 

But regardless where I stand on healthcare, Rep. Joe Wilson's outburst last night during President Obama's address to Congress put a fine point on all the issues that have driven moderates like me far away from the Republican party over the past two decades.  Frankly, it's all about respect.  

Some time during the late eighties and the early nineties -- actually, right around the time I became old enough to vote -- rhetoric from the GOP started moving from the positive to the personal.  Folks like me who didn't hew to the party platform, became "unpatriotic."  And with the party's adoption of the evangelical community and the move to start legislating private behavior, the labels got worse -- what was merely "unpatriotic" before was now "destructive" and "evil."  Somehow, the party's agenda became the country's agenda, and the belief system of a few became standard issue for everyone. 

And the folks putting out this POV?  Well, they seemed to take it very, very personally.  To the point where a pasty white lawmaker with his hands deep in the healthcare industry's till would feel that it's appropriate to call the Constitutionally-elected President a liar before both houses of Congress, on national television.  Dude was wrong, BTW, but he did it anyway.

Now, I'm aware of the fact that there are many legislative houses in other countries where that sort of behavior would seem, well, rather banal.  Check out this punching match in India's Parliament, for instance. But hey, they owe their democratic structure to the UK, and we worked really hard to get away from their shenanigans.  

Look, I'll accept the fact that my choices may seem ill-considered, and maybe even idiotic, at times.  But I resent the fact that someone thinks I'm "evil" because I support gay marriage.  Or that I'm "unpatriotic" because I think it was idiotic to start a war in Iraq.

Here's the thing:  I try to do the right thing, by myself, my friends and family, my countrymen and women.  I'm also pretty smart, well-educated, and extremely skilled at researching information.  If you're going to call me a liar, you better have your facts straight, or I'll catch you.  And if you're going to keep calling me names, please make sure you're living a squeaky-clean life, because I'll find out when you're not.   There are approximately 250 million more people like me in these old United States, and we're sick of the disrespect.  You've made it personal, Messrs. Wilson, Cantor, Boehner and Rove.  (And let's not forget you, Ms. Palin!)  You've made it personal, y'all, when for us, it was strictly business.  Don't be surprised when we take you out, and go home with the cannoli.

Daddy, Paul and the Krispy Kremes.

Well, we're in the middle of what is proving to be a tumultuous week for everyone -- a week that actually started some time last week, or maybe even 20 years ago.  My personal starting point for the tumult was last Friday, on the eve of the Presidential candidates' debate, and it all goes back to the Krispy Kremes.

You see, I'm lucky enough to work in an office that celebrates each Friday by bringing in a stash of Krispy Kreme doughnuts.  Several boxes, enough for everyone, in sufficient variety so no one has to fight over the chocolate-glazeds.  Heaven with a hole in the middle.

Now, I'm delighted that Californians have adopted Krispy Kremes, but even after years of consuming them, I've not met a single Left-Coaster who truly gets the tao of KK, who understands what it means to run to the store when the red light is on, to devour the soft, doughy goodness sitting at the white linoleum counter with a little glass of milk, souvenir paper cap clutched firmly in hand. 

You see, that's where I spent Sunday mornings with my dad, and every time I eat a Krispy Kreme, I'm thrust right back into those childhood days. 

I lost my dad to cancer when he was 58.  So those trips down memory lane are both precious, and painful:  little pinpricks of conscience bugging me about whether I properly said goodbye, whether I've really explained my father to the granddaughter he never knew, whether I'll ever have the chance, or the courage, to sort through my conflicted feelings about our relationship.  All the stuff you feel when you lose a parent, at any age.

The funny thing about my father:  when he was younger, people would meet him and say "You know, your dad kinda looks like Paul Newman."  So, after those damned Krispy Kremes stirred the pot on Friday morning -- and with McCain really winding things up later in the day -- we then lost Mr. Newman on Saturday, and I've been confronted with my dad's doppelganger all week, staring out at me with the same steely blue eyes from every form of media I touch.   

"Look, Mom," said my daughter, "The guy on the cookie box died."  (Yes, we eat Fig Newmans at our house.)   I spent Saturday in a funk, not only over the loss of an amazing, supremely gifted and preternaturally gracious man, but also over the state of our country; sad that at a time when I feel alone and unmoored, there's no father for me to call, to hear him rail about no-nothing and meddlesome Yankees in government, to ask me why I continue living with those California crazies, and to talk about nuclear power as a solution for our energy woes. 

In many ways, Mr. Newman was a powerful father figure for many of us:  who doesn't want a devastatingly handsome movie-star dad, who's also an adventurer, a philanthropist, and wise, to boot?  For all his faults, my dad was a pretty good father figure himself.  He pulled himself up from a hardscrabble existence, earned an education (including an MS in engineering, for pete's sake), and gave me both the courage of my convictions, as well as the will to get things done -- even if he sometimes got there by declining to do things for me.  He never really understood me:  despite having three sisters, and being married, women remained a mystery to him, to be tolerated from afar.  And, given that I inherited my mother's facility with words and music--unlike my brothers, who got the math gene--I was often a truly alien presence to my dad, someone who spoke a language he didn't really understand.  Nonetheless, he taught me as best as he could, in the language he did know:  How to rewire lamps, how to figure out rocket trajectories, how to diagnose what was wrong with my car (which I can still do, to the amazement of my Swedish mechanics). 

I'm sorry, but neither McCain nor Obama cut the mustard when it comes to father figures.  McCain is too jumpy, and whiny (and yes, too short -- my dad was tall!), while Obama is too young, although there may be hope for him (pun intended).  It would be nice if we had a national father figure, if Paul Newman could have hung around for a while and chatted with us about how to solve our problems, how to live with graciousness and hope.

We'll muddle through, somehow.  And I'll learn to look forward to the next batch of Krispy Kremes, hoping that someday I'll be able to cherish those childhood memories, remembering a time when the world felt safe, and warm, and my dad was there to put his arms around me, and drive me home with a big box of doughnuts.   

Compliments of my pal Bill.