Saturday, April 26, 2008

I will never be President, not even in a dream

Just a day ago I poked my finger at your misfortune. I laughed in the face of the pain you endure day after day on CNN, ABC, FOX, CBS.

It is wonderful not having TV reception and it is wonderful not having the 2008 Presidential race in my face all. the. time. I have been reading things here and there on the Internet. I have been chatting with my Dad a bit. I have listened to other thoughts as Jen and Tess and Troy follow along with the hubbub on line as well.

I *thought* I was pretty comfortably removed from the process - until last night.

I dreamed that I was running for office. I kept getting letters from my Dad telling me why Obama could not win, why he thought that would be terrible. The pressure was on me to win. Dad seemed to think the entire universe and its well-being depended upon my candicacy ending with a succesful bid for the Oval office.

Of course my opponents were doing everything in their power to dig up dirt on me. The problem at first was that I aleady told every bad thing I had ever done on my blog. That left them with little to dig up. They were stumped, so they had to dig deeper. I kept moving forward, gaining momentum while they languished in frustration over my squeaky clean record.

Until ...

They found out about the fight I got in back in the 6th grade. The fight itself was not so terribly scandalous, the boy I fought with had picked on me for weeks on end.

One day at the end of his driveway two houses down from mine, in Brooklyn Park, MN - I saw my opportunity to take him down. When he was looking away for a moment during our heated verbal exchange, I took a cheap shot and with all my strength and two hands planted firmly on his shoulders, I pushed him hard. He went flying backward into three garbage cans that sat at the end of his driveway. 6th grader Tara Porter, takes down 7th grader Mario Perez.

The headlines the next day, "Presidential candidate prejudiced - proven record of beating a man of Hispanic descent."

That one fight, with the boy two doors down, that took place in 1984, brought the entire house of cards down around me. Dad was disappointed. I dropped out of the race, and my political career was effectively over that very day.

All of this is to say, as far removed as we are from the never-ending news coverage ... Apparently we're still engaged on some level. Or why would I be dreaming about it?

Sorry Dad.