Red and Blue

Barack Obama: A mosaic of people, originally uploaded by tsevis.

I just finished watching Barack Obama's speech at the Democratic National Convention. WOW.

I used to joke with West Wing watching friends of mine that Jeb Bartlet was my president. It helped to ease the sting of the Bush years.

I don't want Jeb Bartlet anymore. I want Barack Obama to be my president.

But in the spirit of that character who should have been my president and in honor of the man who gave an extraordinary speech tonight, I offer up my favorite scene from the West Wing:

"The scene, a real showstopper, finds the president stopping in on a White House gathering of radio talk personalities. As Bartlet struggles though a speech extolling the gabbers’ contributions to the airwaves, Bartlet is distracted by the sight of a "holy roller" style radio psychologist seated nearby.

BARTLET: It’s a good idea to be reminded of the awesome impact, the awesome impact… I’m sorry. You’re Dr. Jenna Jacobs, right?

JACOBS (obviously pleased to be recognized): Yes, sir!

BARTLET: It’s good to have you here.

JACOBS: Thank you!

BARTLET: … the awesome impact of the airwaves, and how that translates into the furthering of our national discussions, but obviously also how it can … how it can … Forgive me, Dr. Jacobs. Are you an M.D.?

JACOBS: A Ph.D.

BARTLET: A Ph.D.

JACOBS: Yes, sir.

BARTLET: In psychology?

JACOBS: No, sir.

BARTLET: Theology?

JACOBS: No.

BARTLET: Social work?

JACOBS: I have a Ph.D. in English Literature.

BARTLET: I’m asking ‘cause on your show people call in for advice – and you go by the name Dr. Jacobs on your show – and I didn’t know if maybe your listeners were confused by that and assumed you had advanced training in psychology, theology or health care.

JACOBS: I don’t believe they are confused, no, sir.

BARTLET: I like your show. I like how you call homosexuality an “abomination!”

JACOBS: I don’t say homosexuality is an abomination, Mr. President. The Bible does.

BARTLET: Yes it does. Leviticus!

JACOBS: 18:22.

BARTLET: Chapter and verse. I wanted to ask you a couple of questions while I had you here. I wanted to sell my youngest daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. She’s a Georgetown Sophomore, speaks fluent Italian, always cleared the table when it was her turn. What would a good price for her be?

(Bartlet only waits a second for a response, then plunges on.)

BARTLET: While thinking about that, can I ask another? My chief of staff, Leo McGary, insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly says he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself? Or is it okay to call the police?

(Bartlet barely pauses to take a breath.)

BARTLET: Here’s one that’s really important, because we’ve got a lot of sports fans in this town. Touching the skin of a dead pig makes one unclean. Leviticus 11:7. If they promise to wear gloves, can the Washington Redskins still play football? Can Notre Dame? Can West Point? Does the whole town really have to be together to stone my brother John for planting different crops side by side? Can I burn my mother in a small family gathering for wearing garments made from two different threads? Think about those questions, would you?

(The camera pushes in on the president.)

One last thing. While you may be mistaking this for your monthly meeting of the Ignorant Tight-Ass Club, in this building when the president stands, nobody sits.

(Jacobs sees that, in fact, the president is standing and she is the only one in the room sitting. After a moment, she rises, holding her tiny plate of appetizers. After the president exits, Sam Seaborn sternly approaches a thoroughly belittled Jacobs.)

SAM: I’m just … going to take that crab puff.

(Sam snatches Dr. Jacob’s crab puff, then hurries after the president.)"

Who inspires you?

(and while we're at it, what is a good asking price for good kids 'cuz I've got two of 'em might just be up for grabs if, you know, the price is right...)

Radical Eyesight

The deal was finish camp and he could get a mohawk for the last two weeks of summer. Come the day after Labor day the whole thing will be taken down to a buzz cut so he can return to school looking presentable and mainstream. In the meantime he gets to be hardcore (or as hardcore as you can be at 6 in the suburbs!)

A friend of mine said I was the most "radical" parent she's ever met. Again, being a radical parent to 6 and 9 year olds in the suburbs isn't necessarily saying much but hearing it made me feel really good.

Lima Bean with an end of the summer mohawk

See, I was always a bit of a geek and always outside of both the mainstream and the cool. I was somewhere else that wasn't the in-crowd but it wasn't counter-culture coolness either. So, to have someone see that in me now (at 36!?!) is really really cool for me. A dream come true, as it were, for the 16 year-old-girl-I-was who still lives inside my heart.

That'd be why this interview that Christine over at BlissChick did was so rewarding. She makes me seem very cool. Friends would argue that I am cool but I still don't recognize it; I still see myself through the eyes of that 16 year old that I was - the one on the outside of everything.

Retraining myself to see the the eyes of now is a constant practice. And to keep myself occupied until the lessons stick I shave my kid's head! Life is good.

Where do you see yourself through the eyes of your inner teenager? Where would it be gratifying to see yourself through the eyes of the you of today?

A Non-Traditional Experience

On July 29, 2008 my dad died. We were estranged in the years before his death and it feels as though I have grieved him so many times before that this is a much softer process to go through that could be expected.

It is difficult not grieving in the traditional sense. People don't know what to do with you when there is no impending funeral; a promise of a memorial service in a month doesn't seem to ease their emotional confusion.

It isn't easy on me, either. I keep wondering where the tears are and then I look over my shoulder and wonder what people must think of me for not mourning "more." I know full well that given the trouble my father was when he was alive that no one is judging me, but a very vivid voice keeps bringing up public appearance.

I loved my dad but he was never a person to miss, so I can't say that I miss him. I have healed the troubled relationship we had to the point where I can appreciate happy memories of him:

He loved The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, for instance. We'd watch it every year on Christmas Eve. His favorite line was, "the Grinch himself carved the roast beast!" My dad was the Grinch himself. I gave him the key chain of Max, the Grinch's dog/reindeer one year for Christmas, thinking he'd put it on his Christmas tree. When we had to close up his house two years ago when he was put in a home because of his alcohol related dementia I found the key chain on his dresser.

My dad had a tough time with traditional, too. He never came to any of my chorus performances and he only said "I love you" when he was drunk. I learned to accept that he did love me but just didn't show it in the ways I wanted him to. But there was Max, sitting right there on his dresser - a non-traditional way of letting me know that he loved me and that my love mattered enough to him to keep it close by.

Sometimes non-traditional is just fine...