Margaret, I just called my friend Patricia to apologize for dipping her hair into that inkwell back in grade school. I feel bad that I did it and I feel even worse that she no longer remembers who I am or that she one time had hair long enough to put in pig tails. We’re getting old, Margaret. And you know what else is getting old? The parade of schmucks who keep running for political office.
The population of the United States is now over 300 million people. That means that every four years, one person out of 300 million gets the honor of being President of the greatest country on the planet. With those odds, you would think the Republican Party could have found someone who wasn’t a dry drunk like George W. Bush… or the bully in high school like Mitt Romney. I know. I know. We all did dumb things when we were young. Youth. I miss it like I miss my waistline. Shit happens… or in this case Mitt happened. “Back in high school, I did some dumb things,” Romney said. “And if anyone was hurt by that or offended, obviously I apologize for that.” Me too. I really do feel bad about dipping Patricia’s hair into that ink well.
Thank you Mr. Romney, I think I will. I think I will talk about this because unfortunately we don’t seem to have solved the problem yet. Bullying is alive and well today and it is just as inexcusable today as it was 48 years ago. You can send your wife out to the media to laugh about your “wild and crazy” high school years but I wonder how the two of you would have reacted if
one of your sons had done that that had been done to one of your sons. Wild and crazy? Yes, actually. It was. And it’s even more wild and crazy today that anyone would want to honor you with the highest office in the land. Mitt was the son of a Governor… born into a privileged life. You can’t tell me he didn’t know any better.
Mitt and a group of his friends threw a younger boy to the ground and hacked off his hair while he cried and screamed for help. The younger student was believed to be a little light in his loafers by the way, but Mitt now claims that he didn’t know he was gay. As if that really matters.
Mitt led the charge and did the actual hair cutting. Maybe I am overreacting here, but I think he just might not deserve to be that one person out of 300 million to be President. Believe it or not, lots and lots of people go through their entire school career and never dip another person’s hair in ink or physically abuse another student.
I have said before, I come from a generation that doesn’t really talk much about gay people. I remember thinking that a perfectly lovely word had been ruined. Today, however I say, “Gay marriage?” Why not? Everyone should be allowed to be with the one they love. I honestly don’t understand what all the hoopla is about. If you don’t agree with gay marriage then don’t marry a man who dresses like Rick Santorum or has hair like Mitt Romney. If you don’t like gay people simply ignore them. They probably don’t like you either. If an octogenarian from Georgia can see that, why can’t privileged politicians?
Margaret, I really don’t think this is about being gay or the sanctity of marriage. I think this is about common decency and what we should expect from that one person in 300 million who becomes President. I’ll be the first to admit that I would not make a good president. If ever an example of who not to elect there was, I certainly fit the bill. But let’s slow down for just a second here. He gathered a group of students. They tackled a younger student and while that student cried and screamed for help, Mitt Romney, the assumed Republican nominee for President, cut off his hair because he didn’t like the way he looked. Does it matter if that student was gay? Would it be worse if he was black? How about if that student were a woman? I don’t give a rat’s ass if that student were all three. One in three hundred million. One.
Maybe I am old school, as they say, but I really don’t think that one is forgettable much less forgivable when you want to become President.
No one is perfect. But surely we can elect someone more perfect than that. I mean it really.
Helen, dear, I think this all has to do with the length of time little Mitt was allowed to breast feed. Or maybe he’s just a asshat. Probably the latter, dear.