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Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail

We all know the story. Man creates monster. Monster comes to life. Man loses control of monster. Man and monster do a show-stopping rendition of Putting on the Ritz. It’s classic storybook.

There is a monster in America and it isn’t singing. It’s screaming hate and the sound of its ignorance is echoing across the country. It is leaving fear in its wake.

McCain is many things, most of which I don’t agree with, but despite his lack of judgment and poorly chosen words I don’t think he is an agent of evil. An agent of the past, yes. A recipe for disaster, clearly, but evil? No. I don’t believe that.

The monster in this scenario isn’t covered in stitches and bolts. It isn’t being chased by a mob of angry villagers armed with torches and pitchforks. This monster? It is that mob.

There has been an alarming trend growing on the campaign trail and it is disgusting. People were told it was okay to distrust Barack Obama because he was different than them. People were encouraged to let their fear of the new be the common bond between them.

Then they began chanting racial epithets. They shouted chants of violence. They engaged in lies, and worse, they believed them.

They are out of control.

By no means do I believe this is the thought process of the typical McCain supporter, nor the majority, but the fact is that it is happening, it is alarming, and it is spreading. A mentality has been exposed that most of us, on both sides of the proverbial aisle and those independent of it, had thought, or at least hoped, was a dying whisper of generations past.

Racism is alive and well in America and McCain the campaign, if not McCain the man, has let it out. It is out of control. It is a monster and it is haunting us.

We can fear it or we can fight it. I hope we fight, regardless of our politics.


That One

There are few things sweeter than taking the misguided words of a misguided man and turning them into a rallying cry for that which he opposes. This is how you own it:
Special thanks to Jason Avant and Barack Obama.


Because a Vision Softly Creeping

I am fits of rage and passion. I spread my wings in a constant gathering- a gander and his goslings. The world is a dark and scary place and my instinct is to protect.

I push them out of nests built far from their ground, and the fear in my heart does a waltz with the pride. One, two. The boys soar and pride gets spun. One, two, three. The boys fall and fear gets dipped. The world is a never-ending ball and their dance cards are full.

There is safety in the box step and lessons in the mosh pit. Mine is to instruct. Mine is to encourage. I play the songs they need to hear.

I talked the boys through speeches tonight. They didn’t care about them, despite my insistence that one day they’d be proud to share this lifetime with those that dare change the beat. I dared them to hang the DJ.

We played games and did puzzles on the living room floor and our soundtrack was one of progress and hope. Therein lies my passion.

Yet, others have views that differ from mine. They crave a future that doesn’t hold promise, but doubt and debt. They place importance on things that shouldn’t matter. Things that shouldn’t even exist. People talking without speaking. People hearing without listening. People writing songs that voices never share. They dance with who brought them and there is no rhythm to their madness.

I take it personally, because it is. It’s an attack on the only thing that does matter- the children. My children. It is an attack on the future.

I gave the boys a bath and put them in bed. I played the song that I needed and turned my attentions to the kitchen, dirty dishes and full bottles of beer.

And the vision that was planted in my brain still remained, it spun and it dipped and it made me lose my count. I stood over a sink filled with hot, soapy water and savored a sip. The sounds were of silence, and a better man may have cried.

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