Friday, August 29, 2008

After last night's over-the-top speech by tomorrow's 'resurrected JFK,' I thankfully happened upon this piece of clarity from one Washington Post columnist.

The Perfect Stranger
By Charles Krauthammer
Friday, August 29, 2008

Barack Obama is an immensely talented man whose talents have been largely devoted to crafting, and chronicling, his own life. Not things. Not ideas. Not institutions. But himself.

Nothing wrong or even terribly odd about that, except that he is laying claim to the job of crafting the coming history of the United States. A leap of such audacity is odd. The air of unease at the Democratic convention this week was not just a result of the Clinton psychodrama. The deeper anxiety was that the party was nominating a man of many gifts but precious few accomplishments -- bearing even fewer witnesses.

When John Kerry was introduced at his convention four years ago, an honor guard of a dozen mates from his Vietnam days surrounded him on the podium attesting to his character and readiness to lead. Such personal testimonials are the norm. The roster of fellow soldiers or fellow senators who could from personal experience vouch for John McCain is rather long. At a less partisan date in the calendar, that roster might even include Democrats Russ Feingold and Edward Kennedy, with whom John McCain has worked to fashion important legislation.

Eerily missing at the Democratic convention this year were people of stature who were seriously involved at some point in Obama's life standing up to say: I know Barack Obama. I've been with Barack Obama. We've toiled/endured together. You can trust him. I do.

Hillary Clinton could have said something like that. She and Obama had, after all, engaged in a historic, utterly compelling contest for the nomination. During her convention speech, you kept waiting for her to offer just one line of testimony: I have come to know this man, to admire this man, to see his character, his courage, his wisdom, his judgment. Whatever. Anything.

Instead, nothing. She of course endorsed him. But the endorsement was entirely programmatic: We're all Democrats. He's a Democrat. He believes what you believe. So we must elect him -- I am currently unavailable -- to get Democratic things done. God bless America.

Clinton's withholding the "I've come to know this man" was vindictive and supremely self-serving -- but jarring, too, because you realize that if she didn't do it, no one else would. Not because of any inherent deficiency in Obama's character. But simply as a reflection of a young life with a biography remarkably thin by the standard of presidential candidates.

Who was there to speak about the real Barack Obama? His wife. She could tell you about Barack the father, the husband, the family man in a winning and perfectly sincere way. But that takes you only so far. It doesn't take you to the public man, the national leader.

Who is to testify to that? Hillary's husband on night three did aver that Obama is "ready to lead." However, he offered not a shred of evidence, let alone personal experience with Obama. And although he pulled it off charmingly, everyone knew that, having been suggesting precisely the opposite for months, he meant not a word of it.

Obama's vice presidential selection, Joe Biden, naturally advertised his patron's virtues, such as the fact that he had "reached across party lines to . . . keep nuclear weapons out of the hands of terrorists." But securing loose nukes is as bipartisan as motherhood and as uncontroversial as apple pie. The measure was so minimal that it passed by voice vote and received near zero media coverage.

Thought experiment. Assume John McCain had retired from politics. Would he have testified to Obama's political courage in reaching across the aisle to work with him on ethics reform, a collaboration Obama boasted about in the Saddleback debate? "In fact," reports the Annenberg Political Fact Check, "the two worked together for barely a week, after which McCain accused Obama of 'partisan posturing' " -- and launched a volcanic missive charging him with double-cross.

So where are the colleagues? The buddies? The political or spiritual soul mates? His most important spiritual adviser and mentor was Jeremiah Wright. But he's out. Then there's William Ayers, with whom he served on a board. He's out. Where are the others?

The oddity of this convention is that its central figure is the ultimate self-made man, a dazzling mysterious Gatsby. The palpable apprehension is that the anointed is a stranger -- a deeply engaging, elegant, brilliant stranger with whom the Democrats had a torrid affair. Having slowly woken up, they see the ring and wonder who exactly they married last night.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

A brief background

I didn't have a normal childhood in that I lived in the same house and had the same friends from kindergarten until I graduated from high school. I was born an Army brat on Fort Polk, a run-d0wn base in Louisiana (June 14 is the Army's birthday and I tease my dad about the simple coincidence of taking 'r' out of Army ... hmm). My dear mother recalls that the little hospital was situated on stilts and a cockroach family was there to welcome me into the world. Ours moved nine times, usually every two to three years. Growing up this way wasn't the easiest, as anyone can imagine, so my outlet became writing letters. I was the best pen pal anyone could ask for — looking back, I think this really helped shape my writing skills — but then I'd become impatient when I didn't receive my own snail mail a few days after mine went out. I turned a hat box into a letter holder, which I finally *sigh* emptied before leaving for college.

Once I reached middle school, I became bitter at the military. Trying to get accepted as the new kid in the most awkward two years of your life is AWFUL. I entered seventh grade with braces, short hair and a newfound insecurity. I felt completely alone and decided to pen a note to someone higher up — I think it was the then General of the Army. I told him how cruel it was to make families move so frequently without taking into account how the children would be affected, and suggested four-year tours of duty instead. Looking back now, I realize the Army just wanted to get the right person to the right place at the right time — and it didn't matter if that person (or their children) agreed or not. I'm sure the letter never made it to that guy's desk, but I'm sure whoever did read it had a good laugh. Cruel, cruel, cruel.

Now that I'm older and don't have to worry about moving unless we want to, I realize that I was pretty fortunate to have the childhood I did. I have amazing memories and had one-of-a-kind opportunities. I also think I have more appreciation for those in uniform who serve our country. It infuriates me when people say they "support the troops" but the not the war. That statement is an oxymoron. That's their cause — protecting and defending. They understand the risk of war when they enlist or choose to become an officer and make it their career. It's difficult for families, yes. My father served in the first Gulf War. He was also in the Pentagon on Sept. 11. He's soft spoken, but when certain media outlets or inexperienced politicians go on a rant about pulling out early, look out. The Colonel knows what will happen if we do.

I still get chills when I hear the National Anthem. When we lived on military bases, we had to stop what we were doing — driving, playing a sport, whatever — at sunset each day and hear it played, along with the tune, "retreat."I usually would hear the same before heading to school each morning, except "reveille" was played. And there is nothing like the pomp and circumstance of a military service — for either a change of command or a retirement — or listening to the Army band.

Still, I stutter when strangers ask me where I'm from ... "Um, do you have an hour?"


The Reason

After much deliberation, I've finally given in — to this. And for good reason. I spend 40 hours each week — sometimes more — coming up with stories about a community that loves trees, a lake, golden retrievers, walking and shopping. All good things, sure, but you can imagine my excitement in repeating this cycle each week — and now for almost four years. I haven't had an outlet that reminds me why I decided on a writing career in the beginning (actually, I wanted to be the president's speech writer and live in the White House, but that's a story for another day). It's one reason I decided to start up a blog, and one I am going to try my darnedest to get to a few times each week.

I also wanted a place to share stories from years ago and yesterday, about old friends, those I've looked up to and acquaintances I get to know for about an hour or so when they share a piece of their life with me (in this, I mean I'd like to post really cool feature articles I get to write, but only a handful get to read). And finally, I'd like to use this space to express my essence — the dreams, the stumbles, the victories and the questions.


So, happy perusing and please, feel free to add your thoughts to mine.