My Father, The President

Much to my surprise they elected my father to be president, of the United States. Let me tell you about him.

My earliest political memory is of when President Kennedy was shot. I was quite distraught. Someone had shot the president, who would lead the country? My first thought was my father could lead the country, he knows everything. I soon learned that there were systems in place for the transfer of the presidential title, why they even had a vice president readying go. Even though I found that reassuring I was still slightly disappointed. I thought my father would have made a better president.

I have always liked cars. Back when my brother and I were Cub Scouts they had a Pinewood Derby. My dad helped us build nice cars. He was also a judge for the race. It was an elimination type of race. When it came down to the trophy run, my car won. Yet my father called the race to the other guy. He said he wanted to be fair.

When Nixon was running for president my father brought us to see him. I was a bit surprised at the time that he wanted to go see someone who was running for president. In hindsight I think that he had wanted to argue with him. We were surprised that So many people went to see him. We barely got a glimpse of Nixon.

We were involved in Boy Scouts, I had a lot of fun and learned a lot. My father was somewhat predictable. When there was a dispute between two boys, it was best to be the first one to tell the story to my father. His answer was inevitably the same. You are right, the other boy was wrong. I will give you some money to make it better.

My father was named after a jester and a surgeon. He always had a smile. He walked through life smiling.

One time his company was moving. They paid me to help them move. When I picked up his secretary’s typewriter she burst into tears. That was a bit confusing.

When we were growing up, my father and uncle would swap birthday cards saying they should run for mayor. We never asked why they did that, we do not think about politics much.

Actually my father was a big fan of John Anderson. He gave him money to run for president. Claimed he would be paid back. I thought John Anderson was going to be the next president. I was surprised when he only received six percent of the vote.

Actually my father was having an affair with his secretary. She had a daughter that was institutionalized. My father was very empathetic. He had me institutionalized.

If given the choice between the truth and a lie, my father would believe the lie. I proved it to him one time. I have him the choice between the truth and an obvious lie. I asked him to choose the truth. He chose the lie because he wanted to believe it. He then called me a liar.

My father really got into politics after he retired. Free time and a new girlfriend. He was a liberal’s liberal. He started carrying signs and protesting.

I went to a party with his liberal friends. We played a game where we played different socialists. I was given the high honour of playing Fidel Castro. I was known to enjoy cigars. I wasn’t very good at it. I didn’t know any Fidel quotes.

I told my dad that I would carry his signs if he would get me a cushy union job. He became mad. He did not like unions. He had worked with unions back when he was industry. I was a bit confused, I thought he was in the pro union party.

My father would protest weekly. He called his protest vigils. He would dress up in a black burka and hold a bloody baby doll. He did this in a number of town squares with his friends. Sometimes he would stand in the road. He would be happy when people got mad at him. He could then call them stupid.

He gave most of his money away to charity. Over four figures a month. He was happy that he lived below the poverty line.

He wanted to live in the past, like the 1700’s. Modern conveniences were unnecessary in his mind.

He expected people to work for him for free. Why, because he was smart. Smart people get to tell stupid people what to do. He thought people should pick up rocks and build stone walls. Why? Because that is what they did in the past.

He claimed that the old house was part of the underground railroad. Why? Because there was a small hidden room behind the gable. He would give tours, school buses with children would drive to look at the underground railroad. I said all houses with a gable would have a hidden space, it is the nature of geometry. I did some research about the underground railroad. Most slaves traveled through cities where there would be freemen, or to the car seat where there were forests. They did not travel through open farmland like this place was at the time. I asked if there was any family history that talked about runaway slaves. He replied no, but it was up time to prove that there were no slaves in the room. Reality, the little room may have not existed before the civil war. The gable may have been added after the war.

My father believed being right justified theft. He would steal the oppositions signs. I had thought that was his anomaly. Yet it proved to be the norm for his cause. He would advocate violence for his cause. I disagreed with him.

My father would relish arguing. There was no other point of view other than his own. Most people knew better that to argue with him. Others wished they could argue like him.

Shortly before he died we had an argument, he said I was not of his blood.

When he died I fulfilled all his wishes. He filled the church with a standing room overflow crowd. The crowd was a order of magnitude larger than had ever been in that church during my life. There was a very long line of people waiting to get in. Most did not know he had sons.

After he died I opened his mail. I remember a letter from Hillary. Addressed to my father it started “You and I think alike ” and it end with “send me money so I can implement our beliefs”. It was very effective.

My father was a kind and caring person, just at times misguided.

I wonder how he likes being president.


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