To boldly / baldly go… et cetera?

 

I’ve never been an exasperated, practically tearing out my hair parent. Hell, I’ve never been a parent, period. But, apparently, as a political blogger, that’s what I’ve become.

For better or worse… usually the latter… ever since January ’17, I’ve become the long distance, surrogate daddy to ne’er-do-well, mercurial, man-child Trump and the whole kit and kaboodle of his similarly inclined, juvenile delinquents.

My reason for saying so?

Well, upon rereading many of the blogs, which I’ve posted the past several days, I’ve oft seen a pissed off side of me that I hadn’t thought possible. In essence, I’ve been asking myself… “Did I really write that?”

I fully realize that my fury and frustration stem from knowing that, typically, the rebellious are unreachable, unteachable and, as such, rarely, if ever, respect authority figures. Furthermore, my being a relative unknown, my words will go mostly unheard. Consequently, my “scolding” serves no other purpose than venting.

Even so, I cannot help but wonder…

What would the seasoned parent do to maintain a cool head / full head of hair?

 

Stay Safe at Home! Stay Publicly Masked! Stay Healthy!

 

 

 

 

 

The Prez Sez “Nobody likes me” (Vid of the Day)

Chris Cuomo’s tough love lecture / fatherly chat will likely go in one ear and out the other of “the son”… a.k.a. the un-schoolable, problem child / man-child… a.k.a. the empty suit, empty-headed head of state, who’s holed up in the Oval Office.

Nonetheless, it is both reassuring and refreshing for us to know that there are still learned journalists / professor-types, who will try to get through to the truculent, truant Trump.

 

Stay Safe at Home! Stay Publicly Masked! Stay Healthy!

 

 

 

 

 

The Very First Time I Felt Like a Father

 

Whenever my destinations involve malls, cineplexes, supermarkets, etc…. rain or shine… my car usually winds up in the parking lot periphery to [1] avoid dings and dents on fenders / doors, [2] force myself to get a bit of exercise and [3] ensure that, upon exiting my parking space, my automatic transmission can be shifted into D rather than R.

You see, some automotive “genius” had thoughtlessly designed my car’s rear end to stick up so high in the air that it’s nearly impossible for a backing up driver to always see short in stature passersby.

With that in mind, what now follows is my parking lot, pedestrian safety related tale… a narrative with both an unexpected twist and a far deeper message…

Not too long ago… as I was hoofing it inward bound to a Whole Foods market… while still too distant to rush to the rescue… I spotted / heard an exuberant little boy… probably no more than a four-year-old… who was rushing straight into the path of an oncoming SUV.

The distracted driver had totally missed seeing the stop sign and just kept on carelessly barreling down the service drive, which ran past the storefront. Noticing, too, who I assumed to be the tyke’s (also distracted) mommy, I did all I could possibly do under the circumstances. In my last ditch attempt to attract her attention… maybe even the boy’s, too… I yelled as loudly as I could, “WATCH OUT!” Suddenly looking up to see the impending disaster, she rushed towards her son and snatched him out of harm’s way… just in the nick of time!

As I did my grocery shopping that afternoon, I realized I would’ve reacted in the same manner regardless of the imperiled person’s age… but… that this had involved someone so young… well everything began to register on a personal level I had never even considered before.

During my entire life as a non-parent (sixty plus years)… this was the very first time that I had truly felt like a father. Having helped prevent a youngster’s serious injury… maybe even saving his life… only served to prove how the parental instinct is programmed into us all.

And that’s why I now make my heartfelt appeal to my countrywomen and men, who presently misdirect their parental instinct to protect a 73 year-old man-child rather than the immigrant children he bullies and abuses.

Looking out for the well-being of children upstages / upends politics! Hell, it even transcends religion. We are talking about pure, parental instinct, here. And, as my above story amply points out, one need not even be an actual parent to feel these feelings.

All I can say is if… at the “mere” thought of wailing, sobbing, crying immigrant children… you cannot feel the anguish in your heart… well… humanity just might be heading towards a metaphorical, group cardiac arrest.

A cynic might even begin to wonder if “the patient” is even worth saving. Let’s hope that such world-weariness won’t impede a sorely needed, long overdue, full, societal recovery.