"A Core Belief"

Note:  This one was mistakenly published late in the day.  I republish it today, not because it is necessarily so great but because I have a visceral aversion to waste.  Enjoy.  Or, if applicable, enjoy again.

I try not to think about the president.

And then I think about the president.

I am nothing if not inconsistent.

I guess I can’t help it.  For me, thinking about the president is like that “thing” your tongue feels in your mouth that was there yesterday and it’s like, “Stay away from that ‘thing.’”

Where does your tongue go?

Right back to that “thing.”

So here I am, not thinking about the president but, instead, imagining running against him in the upcoming election.  Me, who declined nomination for 9C Class President at Ledbury Park Junior High.

And me – more invalidatingly than being utterly disinterested in the job  – who was born not in this country.

(Though why that should matter, I am increasingly unsure.  You would think after 45 years living here, my “Alien Otherness” would have totally rubbed off.)

Why am I imagining running for president?

Because somebody has to “Bell the Cat.”

(Referencing a childhood classic, where a band of mice finally hamstring a predatory cat.)

In my imagined fantasy,

I’m the mice.

There I am, the “Anointed Democrat” – leapfrogging the preceding primaries and the grueling campaign – onstage at ”The Presidential Debate.”  Others dream of batting in the World Series in the bottom of the ninth.  I dream of challenging the worst man ever elected to the highest office in the land.

Cut To:  The End of the Debate.

“Mr. Pomerantz, you have three minutes.”

It is “The Big Payoff.” 

Time to dramatically “Seal the Deal.”

And here I go.  (Hopefully, second, dodging the punishing rebuttal.)

I begin with some history.  How the Republican Party has – historically – opposed Medicare, Social Security, Minimum Wage…

“They are ‘The Party of the People’… without helping the people.”

Which takes me to where I was actually headed all along.

Imagine a long, agonizing pause… like Obama, before Amazing Grace.  The audience is murmuringly confused, not sure where I am going, or if I have just wilted under the pressure.

And then I begin.  Slowly.  Deliberately.  Speaking simply, and straight from the heart.

“You guys on the ‘other side’, you’re not gonna believe me about anything, right?  To you, I’m ‘The Enemy.’  The things I stand for – a lot of them anyway – they’re not just different from the things you stand for.  They’re ‘Evil.’  I don’t agree, of course.  But I get it.

Okay.  Forget my core beliefs.

Let’s talk about your core beliefs.

Or at least one of them.

This may be ‘stereotyping’, but it seems to me you have a very clear idea of exactly what it means to be…

‘A Real Man.’

I know a little about that idea.  I sent away for The Lone Ranger’s ‘Code of the West.’

And paid careful attention to Hopalong Cassidy.  Those childhood heroes taught us, through word and deed, what it actually means to be ‘A Real Man’.  And, though I came to believe they weren’t talking about men – they were talking about all of us – I took their lessons seriously to heart.

For example – using your own standards for exactly what it means –

A Real Man does not brag.

A Real Man respects women.

A Real Man fights to win, but he always fights fair.

A Real Man is strong without mentioning who’s ‘weak.’

A Real Man knows right from wrong, and knows an enemy from a friend.

A Real Man is not eager for the spotlight.

A Real Man does not blame.

A Real Man knows loyalty cannot be demanded, it has to be earned.

A Real Man believes in something other than himself.

A Real Man is courageous, decent, honorable and just.

A Real Man Does not bully.

A Real Man does not lie.

I’m Earl Pomerantz, and I’m running for president.  I hope to prove worthy of your vote and, if elected, that my behavior in office justifies your trust.  And if by my so doing, you decide, ‘Now that’s a Real Man’, I will humbly and gratefully say, ‘Thank you.’

And that’s it.”

Cut To:

The “Sitting President”, quietly fuming, and red in the face.

So much for my rescuing fantasy.

Now back to not thinking about the president.

As long as it lasts.