Monday, January 18, 2016

A n older white guy's message to angry white guys

Well, there they go again. On and on about how "angry older white guys"  are loudly out in force to elect  scary creatures like Donald Trump or Ted Cruz.

It  didn't  quickly  dawn on me that I am, short of the angry bit, an  older white guy.   A lot older white guy.  Grumpy at times, yes.  Snarky?  Of course.  Judgmental?  You bet . Reactive against Republicans?  Only a defense mechanism from the rebellious offspring of a Republican family.

It was my father, for example,  who had no use for the Kennedy clan and even lectured  me on how newspapers  covered up Ted's Chappaquiddick nightmare as he cited all of the horrific details.

"How did you find out about all of this, Dad?" I asked during a visit  to the family retirement home in Miami, where he wanted me to believe that nobody could possibly die amid the sunshine and palms.

"It was in the Miami Herald!" he said, triumphantly, even though he had never wanted me to be a newspaperman.

It seems to me that anybody who reaches a certain  age and still wakes up in the morning to greet another day ought not to be too angry about anything.   Not only angry older  white guys  but surely angry older  white  women who are never mentioned  in these stereotypical  groupings of  bewhiskered  old men in crumpled baseball  caps who prefer Duck Dynasty  to Downton Abbey,  or even Seinfeld.  But as one older white  guy to another, may I suggest that there is no pot of gold awaiting you and me at the end of Trump's rainbow? Honest, honest, honest.


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