Honestly, I haven’t heard such caterwauling and bellyaching in this country since Jimmy Carter was president. All I’ve heard this whole summer has been a rising cacophony of complaint. In every posh place I’ve been, whether church or Wal-Mart or Home Depot or the bagel shop, whether my primary polling place or regular citizens confab, whether neighborhood barbeques or my favorite stateside beach, the self-indulgent topic du jour has been the plight of the people.
The plight of the people and that sorry lot of nincompoops running the national machinery up there in Washington, D.C., are the only things folks are talking about this summer.
Unbridled scorn. Ungracious contempt for the president’s policies and even for his wife’s Marie Antoinette inclinations. Snarling sarcasm not even bothering to veil itself in polite platitudes. Unfettered resentment coming from the mouths of ordinarily apolitical gentlemen, forming the same trite question over and over again in sardonic mockery: “Can’t the president feel our pain?”
A collective national belch hurled in the faces of the ivory-towered elitists emits from the people in the most rude disdain they can summon.
It’s as though the normally silent, working-too-hard-to-notice-anything-political majority has suddenly awakened from a 35-year slumber and bellowed with a single voice at the top of their lungs:
Enough with the liberal dream schemes that have bankrupted the socialist democracies of Europe and every state in the union that’s tried them. Enough with the profligate spending of other people’s money. Enough with the corruption and greed and high-handedness. Enough with purely racist policies masquerading as “affirmative action” and “color quotas.” Enough with the junk science. Enough with the “Can we get away with it? Yes, we can” shredding of the Constitution.
While the nation moans and wallows in its discontent, the president says we ought to be “thanking him.”
Well, I for one, have decided to give the president and his lovely better half a break. As Lindsey Graham might intone, the Golden Rule demands it. Yes, demands that we summon our inner self-sacrificial doormat sides, lay down our weary burdens, and give a heaping spoonful of empathy to our first couple.
Oh, where to start? The back-breaking, mind-wrenching toil of our first couple is so ubiquitously evident every single day that it’s just nearly impossible to choose the entry site for efficient, surgical empathy.
Well, I’ll just pick something arbitrarily.
Did you selfish ingrates out there in the heartland know that the president had to spend his own birthday without the companionship of his wife and daughters? I’ll bet you didn’t.
Now, the whole dead-as-a-doornail “mainstream” press covered this wretched tale from sunup to sundown on Barack’s birthday, but since no real American bothers with the stateside Pravda any more, it’s unlikely that readers here even know about the president’s latest emotional torment. Oh, Barack did have Oprah and a couple of other Chicago no-accounts with him, but still, having to spend his birthday without his oh-so-close-knit-family with him must have been for Barack an insufferable cruelty. Perhaps the president could form a support group with soldiers in his war over there in Afghanistan and they could help each other come to grips with holiday-separation anxiety.
Well folks, how’s that for surgical empathy? I think I might be getting the hang of this Golden Rule thing.