That Darned Gee Oh Pee

Recently I informed my dad that, depending on how events played out in November, I might be leaving the country. (Will I? I don't know, but I thought I should warn a few people that I might.) I mentioned that I could no longer support the GOP and hoped never to vote for any of their candidates again (that's a polite way of rendering what I wrote). Several days later--a bit longer than it usually takes--he sent me a couple of grafs in reply. The main one read:
Sorry, I am not a blog reader and I do not understand what all you have been saying of a political nature. Your mother and I did not raise you to be a democrat. What is the specific issue? Are you involved in a civic capacity to improve situations or just complaining?
(Emphasis mine.)

I'm not sure what my dad meant by "just complaining," since that's what all the howling monkeys on the unhinged Right were doing for Clinton's two terms--with a stained dress as a pitiful excuse. I wouldn't term screaming about the shredding of the Fourth Amendment "just complaining." Be that as it may, I found it amusing that my father called forth the reason that he and my long-deceased mother didn't "raise" me to be a democrat. So true. Neither did they raise me to be an atheist, a libertine, a well-read and -educated person, a writer, an artist or anything else, for that matter. I much appreciate that they encouraged me to do what I wanted and what suited my talents. I have many friends who were torn apart early in life thanks to sick parental policies which I had none of. So kudos for my parents. But my dad has no right to mention how I was raised. He was raised a Catholic or Universalist, depending on which parent you speak of; he was also raised to beat children, drink copious amounts of liquor and indulge in "engineering." So what?

Presumably, my father didn't raise me to get divorced. And yet I did just that. Neither was he raised to remarry before my mother was in the ground a year. Nor was either of us raised to be a serial killer, a philanderer, a thief or a greedy politico. My answer to my unthinking father: Tough shit.

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