John
There’s a story in the Bible somewhere about a paperboy. There’s a president somewhere, too, who feels a little ashamed. And then, there’s the story about an opportunity. The bugler found gold, and the president on his second wind. A piano plays somewhere. It’s America, 2022. I come from a place you’ll remember, says the president, and quoting President Nixon, he says, “and tonight, I’d like to speak to you, again.”
He turns a few pages, and the wind, the sun, and the rain stop. I have to tell you. This isn’t a happy story. They say there’s a depression on the front. Over and over, he walks the lines, smokes a cigar, and talks to himself. “America is a proud place full of a diverse people - I ask you to respect that.” He pauses, we pause, and we sit reminiscing about our place under God.
The cameras flash.
Some of the strongest things ever said in America carry a tax. Responsibility is as responsibility does the president implores. No one, above a right, gets to run anything. He sits for a moment, and then he smiles.
The cameras flash, and pop. It’s Saturday evening. We’re all very proud to hear him speak.
And then comes Monday.
What I’m saying, here, is readily transparent.
I’m afraid for you.
Silence.
“Hey, John?”
“From the waters I rise.”
“John?”
Gunshots go off somewhere, but it’s not America.
People are busy selling, working through math problems, redesigning, cleaning, and working through…
“Sir?”
The opponent stops dead in his tracks. It’s obvious to the audience what’s going on. It’s midterms.
The lights stop.
Somewhere in the great auspices of America, in the hallways, and in break rooms, we pray for silence. A reprieve from the common cacophony to hear ourselves, again. Silently, we fear media a bit, and we hope that they don't fall prey to their own folly from years ago. Find a voice, limit nothing that's right, and carry the flag high. God Bless America.