Alert: Holidays Ahead!

The holidays officially begin this week, and the "horns of plenty" are overflowing with tales of family eccentricity.

The Man, Small Child, and I will be - as of this minute - having a tiny Thanksgiving courtesy of multi-car pile-up of drama that I will do my best to pull together in an amusing post over the next few days.  I'm going to roast a duck and prepare my sinfully delicious cornbread-and-bacon stuffing (endorsed by the portfolio managers of cardiologists everywhere).  Yum.

On a vaguely related note, today is the birthday of both my adorable Third Nephew and my sister. I feted the former, a kind and loving child, by providing the comic relief at his birthday party. Bowling is not like riding a bike, it seems.  If one goes, say, thirty years without aiming a pin her skills do not rush back. But nothing puts smiles on the faces of the ten-and-under set like middle-aged physical comedy. I'm proud to serve.

Honoring my sister was not so easy. I opted for a drive-by: gift card in birthday envelope deposited in mailbox. Always the safe choice when the recipient isn't speaking to the giver.

Everybody Plays, Everybody Wins.

Congrats to Christy and Sarah, the two winning commenters.

Sarah, drop me an email at bluelikethesky@gmail.com with your mailing address and I'll set things in motion, most likely via amazon.uk. Christy, I know where to find you.

All Grown Up Now

On election night, amidst all the talk of "historic moments" and "monumental firsts," I suddenly realized I'd just passed over a meaningful tipping point.

For the first time in my life, I am older than the President of the United States of America.

But not by much. And therein lies one of the emotional reasons I chose to support his candidacy. Barack and Michelle Obama are of my generation. Our daughters are in the same age bracket. Their personal concerns are my personal concerns. Lest you think I am a left wing nutjob who votes the blue state equivalent of "I love Sarah Palin! She's just like me!," know that ultimately my choice was reason-based. But I'd be lying if, now that the election is over, I didn't 'fess up to the identification thing.

Barack Obama is old enough to be President, and so am I. Welcome to true adulthood. The place and time where we take the reins.

Every campaign - indeed, every presidency - is like a lifetime in miniature. Some presidents, like some individuals, never quite grow up. They either chase rainbows or pick on the weak or live out their lives thinking the world literally revolves around them. The drama of youth plays out on the world stage, damn the consequences.

You know who I'm talking about.

I truly believe that is about to change.

Across the street from my elementary school, a vacant lot was blocked from our daydreaming eyes by a cinder block monstrosity known as The Brick Wall (deep in the Cold War, the Berlin Wall probably had a lot to do with the moniker). We were pretty good kids, and closely supervised, so disputes were usually shut down before they erupted into anything physical. But diplomacy isn't always effective when you're ten. Occasionally, whispers would drift through the halls and notes would change hands; our covert skills rivalled those of any Le Carre' spook: "Fight today behind The Brick Wall." The game was on.

I never made it ringside since my mother picked me up promptly every day, but I heard tales of the rollicking violence that blacked eyes and ripped shirts before the principal would amble over and break things up. He could usually set things right by requiring a handshake, mutual apologies, an honest admission of who started it, and a classic punishment such as writing "I will not fight behind the Brick Wall." 100 times. He was an outstanding example of a grownup in action. Thanks to his leadership, such fights were rare.

This presidential campaign had much of the schoolyard brawl about it. Spitballs. Dinner rolls across the cafetorium. Glue in the chair. Every day brought another taunt, another challenge. Rumors. Lies. Stabs in the back. Every day, someone from the McCain camp was spoiling for a fight, showing up Behind The Brick Wall, ready to kick some ass.

But there was one big problem. No one showed up to fight. Obama wasn't a chicken. He wasn't worried about getting in trouble.

He didn't fight because he is a grown up.

Over the last few days, as I've thought about the election, as I've watched the Obamas do their best to live authentic lives, what has struck me is how remarkably consistent he man is. How grounded. How controlled. How reliable. How disciplined. Just as he was throughout the two-year process. During the primary, he didn't change his wardrobe or his accent to fit the venue as Senator Clinton often did. During the main campaign, he maintained a calm, strong demeanor in the face of outrageous accusations and falsehoods. In doing so, he presented an admirable counterpoint to a ticket that drew each day's talking points from a grab bag, hoping feverishly that one would hit home.

Yes, we are going to have a grownup in the White House.

And I am optimistic that our nation may also be coming of age.

On election night, my friends and I watched the massive crowd in Grant Park - exuberant yet peaceful, so peaceful. Tens of thousands of fully enfranchised Americans, individuals of every shape, size, and color, waiting in hope and joy and grace. I recalled the hate-filled shouting that peaked at McCain rallies in the final weeks before the election, and I thought again of children and adults. I believe the inherent good in us all will eventually make the first example the overriding norm.

My hope is that wise, adult leadership will calm the remaining angry, fearful bullies in our country. That we will hear fewer calls to meet Behind The Brick Wall and more to Hang Out in The Park Together.

Guidebooks for parents and teachers are a dime a dozen, but share core principles:

Be Consistent.

Don't Raise Your Voice.

Support and Challenge Those in Your Care.

Be The Adult, Not a "Friend."

When parents and other grownups follow such advice, we do not call them weak. We call them wise.

When a president follows them, we call him a true leader, a statesman.

When a nation follows them, we can call her mature and truly triumphant.

America, here's to your majority.

Coming Attractions

Coming soon, to this very blog....a post about the election.

I keep starting and stopping and revising, things I rarely do as a blogger. This probably means that the post will reek.

You never know.

Hopefully I'll have something up tomorrow.

The Answer, My Friend, Is 271....

A little music for today, classic in every way....

Happy Halloween!

This entire post is stolen blatantly, word for word, from today's Wonkette. Thanks, Wonkette, for making my Halloween witchilicious!

Lil’ Sarah Palin Wants Welfare Handouts 

Friday, October 31st, 2008

Family Circus

Dolly’s sadistic parents have dressed her as America’s most-hated angry dingbat, so the neighbors will feed her poison. 

Flashback: 1964

One of the memories that crossed my mind when I voted for Barack Obama was watching my mother pay her poll tax. 

For those of you unfamiliar with that term, the "poll tax" (along with other practices such as "literacy tests") was a particularly pernicious form of disenfranchisement, abolished in federal elections by constitutional amendment in 1964 and in state and local elections by the Supreme Court in 1966.  

My mother often took me along when she voted. When possible, I take Small Child with me.

But, in a change of seasons, today I took my mother to vote.

With a spiffy cap covering her chemo-hairless head and a cane to steady her ever-weaker gait, she made her way into the courthouse for early voting. She was able to handle the ten or so stairs down into the courthouse entrance nearest our parking spot, and fortunately the elevator was working. 

When we reached the second floor, the stairs loomed so very large.  She was ready, though. Ready to climb to vote in what is, realistically, at age 87 her final presidential election. 

But in one of those moments of grace, all too rare in this season of sniping and vicious campaigning, the worker stationed to greet and guide those arriving to vote took one look at us and said, simply, "We're so glad you're here. Would you like us to bring a machine down so you don't have to climb those last few stairs?"

Mother paused a moment, then replied, "Yes, I think that would be best."

I wish I could say that in the 44 years since the poll tax was repealed the world had changed enough for her to vote for Obama. In truth, I think she was voting for McCain rather than against an African American man. 

But as I sat there, watching a patient Latina assist her with the electronics and a rainbow of diverse voters pass by, I felt so very grateful that my world has.