off he went into the wild blue yonder
Jude and I took Nathan back to the airport yesterday. As we were waiting for his
plane to take off, I was watching the news on TV. The sound was turned down,
but it was easy to imagine what Obama, his pals and the oppositional true patriots
were saying about the odious legislation they had just passed.
” . . . best for our great nation . . .”, ” . . . start of a new era . . . “, ” . . . everyone will have
to pitch in . . .”
It was equally easy to imagine them speaking the truth: ” . . . we believe it’s the
right thing to do to have the rich fuck over the poor yet again . . .”, ” . . . this bill
is a breathtaking piece of cowardice, obfuscation and evasion of responsibility
. . .”, ” . . . we have no idea how 80 or so freshman members of Congress bullied
the power elite into this . . .”
Although I had promised myself to stop fretting about such matters as a 65th
birthday gift last month, I couldn’t not hear the roar of rage and howl of despair
in my gut. No over-the-counter meds from the airport gift shop could calm them,
and I couldn’t afford to drink at its bar.
I dearly love Nathan. He’s an old soul in the body of an NFL lineman. I wondered
if my family felt the same way I felt as they watched my flight slouch me toward
Vietnam. I was the same age as our gentle giant. What were Jude and I sending
him into? Didn’t I go to southeast Asia so America would live happily ever after?
Someone in the Pentagon owes me an explanation.
Jude and I drove home mostly in silence. When we talked, it was about mundane
things. We were steeping in the sadness we always feel when Nathan goes back.
He’ll always be her baby boy. I slept and mapped out changes to the farm in my
head. Shortly before we got home, I told her I was ready to become a Canadian
citizen.
