We have had eight years of observing one presidential candidate, and about three months of hearing from the other.
The one who’s been front and center for eight years has told us the same thing for eight years.
The one with three months as a candidate, but with a background in the public eye, tells us she wants a peaceful country where people have jobs and food and hope.
She’s several varieties of human. She’s Jamaican and African and Asian and American Indian. If that’s not the poster child for America, what is?
It’s hard to see why anyone would ever hold being Black against anyone. Is it because Blacks are the best cooks, best musicians, best athletes and best preachers?
Now brown people, they seem to have backstage passes when it comes to having fun. They laugh, celebrate, wear bright colors, work hard, and know how to ocean fish. They have fiestas, siestas and piñatas.
Asians are generally a size smaller than white people, they make the best cars and trucks, and have far less stomach cancer than everybody else.
One presidential candidate comes with all that, standard equipment.
The other candidate is Aryan, a punishing word describing a Nordic second son with questionable social skills and lousy grades. He says and does things so unreasonable we kind of see one of our relatives (by marriage) in him. He’s invited to family affairs because he’s family, so we might not particularly want to be around him, but he’s ours. His mouth smiles and his eyes don’t. He’s a 78-year-old rich white man looking for work.
The biggest issue on ballots this year is abortion. It’s simple. No matter how pro-life you are, and who isn’t when you think about it, no Supreme Court or legislator or pastor has the business or authority to tell any woman what to do with her body. She can smoke or she can run marathons. She can learn Latin or butcher the English language every day by pronouncing the t in often. It’s up to her because she is of this earth.
Six months ago, if the sky had split open, the thunder gone fallow and a baritone speaking fractured English said, “Mary Pat, who do you want to be president of your country?” I’m sure I would’ve answered Michael Strahan, a super sacker defensive end for the New York Giants 30 years ago. He’s been to space. He’s smart and kind. He’s a co-host on morning television. He has that grin of ultimate sex appeal, a split between his front teeth, like Willie Nelson used to have. Willie would be my choice for VP.
None of that will come true. We have two candidates, six if you count the ones whose names we don’t remember, and we seem excited and apprehensive about the outcome of our election. Good. We should be.
I prefer to vote for civility over ridicule. I believe that accusations are very close to confessions, and I don’t want to hear either of those from either candidate.
No matter how we feel about Donald Trump, he’s family. He’s of this earth. No matter what we don’t know about Kamala Harris, she’s family, of this earth.
NASA astronaut Ron Garan spent 178 days in space, 2,842 orbits around earth. His observation? “I saw an iridescent biosphere teeming with life. I didn’t see the economy. But since our human-made systems treat everything, including the very life-support systems of our planet as a wholly owned subsidiary of the global economy, it’s obvious from the vantage point of space that we are living a lie.”
There are deeper and better reasons to admire or loathe either candidate, but go ahead and play like you’re voting for you. What you want. What you believe. What you find touching or possible. What you want your grandkids to remember when you tell them about this election day.