A couple of weeks ago, my Dad, a dyed-in-the-wool staunch Republican, called me up for the specific purpose of warning me about Obama. I carried my cup of coffee out on to the front porch and sat on the steps. Old Solomon came out and lay down next to me so I wouldn't feel quite so alone, which I greatly appreciated. Sol doesn't care who's president as long as he gets his belly scratches so he's an excellent companion at times like this.
I'd been dreading the conversation. I've never been very good at standing up to Dad and this is the first time he and I have differed on a candidate. He's not taken my jumping ship very gracefully, so I've really tried to avoid the subject of politics with him.
"He's a Muslim and he wants to turn us all into socialists," he said.
I thanked him politely for the information and tried to change the subject.
He pressed on because he's Dad and probably wants to save my soul from the leftist liberal hell it's heading to if I don't repent."He's going to raise taxes on everybody. Do you want to pay to pay more taxes?"
"Obama wants to tax the big oil companies and that's a really bad idea. I don't know about you, but I find that when the big oil companies are doing well, I'm in good shape too."
I pointed out that the oil companies reported record profits this year and that, so far, I hadn't made any. Were mine coming later in the mail?
He didn't seem to think that was funny and didn't justify it with a reply--just went on about the evils of Democrats and how we're always so much deeper in debt when one of them gets out of office.
Are you impressed with my self control so far? I am too. So was Solomon. His tail thumped against the porch when I layed over on him with a huge sigh, pressing my face against his thick fur.
Of all the things Dad said, my personal favorite had to be among his closing arguments:
"America isn't ready for a black president, or a woman president, for that matter."
And . . .
Wait for it . . . wait . . .
"I've taken a good look at this McCain fellow and I'm pretty sure that he at least can't hurt anything."
I'd sat up by that point and had just taken an ill-timed sip of coffee. I choked on it, which was fortunate because it covered up my laughter.
I've known that my father is a racist sexist pig since I was about twelve years old. While my mother was wearing tie-dye, running the local Laleche League, singing "Puff the Magic Dragon" to us, and telling us about people like Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, and preaching that pot shouldn't be illegal, my Dad was still calling African-Americans the N-word, making cracks about wetbacks, and demanding that my mom stay home where she belonged (he was smoking pot too, but we weren't supposed to know that). I listened to him measure women by their level of attractiveness (never mind what they'd accomplished) so much that by the time I left home I had a roaring case of self-esteem issues. (Fodder for some other blog entry--or not).
I CAN NOT WAIT to see what he thinks about McCain's choice for VP. I even toyed with calling him up and asking him, just so I could listen to him spit hair balls while trying to remain cool about it. Dad is never wrong. Not ever. Even when he is. But I'm sure when he finds out, he'll probably scream bloody murder.
I'm always thrilled to see a woman get to the top. Even when a huge error in judgement got her there. I think Sarah Palin is an impressive individual with a lot going for her, but I don't think she's ready to be our president (Lets face it--that's a possibility). She makes Obama look like a veteran and she's already under a cloud of suspicion being accused of an abuse of power in her own state.
My dad will be upset just because she's a woman.
So while we're waiting for Dad's reaction (I expect to hear the scream any minute), how about I show you a video my aunt sent today? It's one of the few political forwards I've gotten in my e-mail that made me smile.