Daddy Issues

Whatever happened to Leslie King, Jr?

He grew up to be president of the United States, but we know him as Gerald R. Ford, Jr.  Mr. Ford’s mother left his father (who was said to be abusive) 16 days after little Leslie’s birth.  Two years later, she married Gerald Ford, Sr. and though the future president was never formally adopted, he changed his name to reflect the shift in family.

I got to thinking about this when I saw a reference to Newton MacPherson, now known as Newt Gingrich.  Mr. Gingrich’s mother wed at 16 just long enough to get pregnant, left her husband and married Robert Gingrich, who adopted Newt, a few years later.

Mr. Gingrich is trying to usher Barack Obama into unemployment.  Mr. Obama, we all know, grew up a black kid in a white family, his African father leaving shortly after Mr. Obama’s birth.  His name, including the middle name Hussain, stayed the same, but he later wrote of the pain and dislocation caused by the absence of Barack senior.
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A Goon’s Brain

I have lived most of my life within 100 miles of the Canadian border, i.e. hockey country.  So I read John Branch’s excellent New York Times series on Derek Boogard’s brain damage with interest and the response from the National Hockey League with dismay.

A post-mortem examination of Mr. Boogard’s brain – he died at 28 from an accidental overdose of alcohol and drugs – showed he suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE).  The Center for the Study of Traumatic Encephalopathy at Boston University has studied the brains of four deceased hockey players and found each suffered from CTE.  Three of the four, including Mr. Boogard, were goons – that is, they were recruited not for their skill with the puck, but only to beat people up on the ice.

In Wednesday’s Times, NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman and Todd Fedoruk, a retired goon and friend of Mr. Boogard, defended fighting in North America’s professional hockey leagues. (Sanctioned fighting exists only in N. American pro leagues; college, European and Olympic players face ejection and potential multi-game suspensions for fighting.)
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Shut Up and Pay

New York Times columnist Joe Nocera hinted Monday at something that’s been on my mind for a while, but he didn’t come right out and say it.

His column was on the European money crisis and the gist of his argument is this: it makes economic sense for Germany (Europe’s economic powerhouse) to bail out Greece (Europe’s irresponsible brother-in-law).

The Greeks have gotten themselves – and are dragging the Euro and the Eurozone nations – into this mess with too little austerity and too many early retirements.  It’s the hardworking ants of the Baltic versus the sun-drenched grasshoppers of the Mediterranean.  It’s in Germany’s self-interest to save the Greeks, because if Europe returns to a patchwork of currencies, then those low-value drachmas and lire and pesetas will buy fewer German products.

The Germans, however, resist this logic not for economic, but moral reasons.  “If we bail you out, how will you learn your lesson?” the Germans ask, “Why would you not repeat your mistakes?”  It’s like the parent, about to punish the child, saying, “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you,” and in this case it might be true.
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Things We Do Not Have

We woke to three inches of snow Wednesday.  “Back to normal,” I thought.  Winter is the norm in the north; other seasons are a fantasy.  Not very nice snow, either.  Heavy, wet stuff.  So, no Thanksgiving eve potato roast.  We might be northerners, but we’re not going to sit in the slush.

People who are not from the north (and many who are) lament the coming of snow, short days, constant cloud cover.  I suspect they push back against winter mentally be being unprepared for it.  I was not surprised when a transplanted Floridian was still mucking about with snow tires as late as Monday, but discouraged to have a Vermont native cancel an appointment yesterday due to inadequate treads and fear of venturing out on the roads.

The feature of the aborted potato roast was to have been sweet potatoes, so we have a surfeit in the kitchen, many of which will be baked for this afternoon’s dinner with the neighbors.
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Still America

The teenaged girl did not want to attend the Democratic mayoral caucus with me, but I didn’t give her a choice.

Burlington will hold a mayoral election the first Tuesday of March, town meeting day.  Four candidates put themselves forward for the Democratic nomination.  Vermont caucuses and primaries are open to all registered voters in a given jurisdiction, which sometimes leads to mischief, but usually results in a pure form of democracy.

“You’re going to be voting soon, you need to see how this works,” I said.
“That’s twooo yeeears awaaay,” she replied.  A lifetime for teens.  She brought her phone, so she could distract herself by texting friends.

The streets around Memorial Auditorium were filled with citizens, discussing the merits (and demerits) of the various candidates.  The afternoon was pleasantly warm.  Occupy Burlington protesters formed a brass band and marched to the auditorium’s steps, politely moving out of the way so people could enter.
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Duty Now for the Future

My neighbors seemed to hit on a 21st century harvest ritual last Sunday.  It was the first dusk of standard time and was getting dark around 4:40.  It had been a beautiful days and we’d all been closing our gardens for the season, when I noticed fires burning in a few backyards.  It seemed a fitting way to greet the change in schedule.

(By the way,  I don’t think “standard” time is standard anymore, as we observe it for only about four months a year, just as a car’s manual transmission is no longer the “standard” equipment it once was.)

The fact that we shift clocks at all is a symptom of industrial society ruled by measured time.  Real farmers rise with the sun, not the clock.  We change from daylight to standard time (and vice versa) in the middle of a weekend to ease the Monday morning transition.  By the light of the flames, we could see ourselves on the cusp of transition from the global, oil soaked era to a new agrarianism.

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One Year Out

The presidential election is one year away.  What are we talking about?  Is Herman Cain a heinie-pincher?  Was Rick Perry drunk at the podium in New Hampshire?  Can Barack Obama win re-election?  For the answer to number three, see questions one and two.

Just like global warming, we’re getting used to this crap and we don’t even notice it.  It’s the effect of the 24 hour news networks, blogs (yeah, this one too) and twitter.  The entertainment business has taken over America, including our body politic.

The platforms of Republicans, either in office or just wanting, are so detached from reality that we may as well spend our time wondering whether and who Mr. Cain hit on 15 years ago as pay attention to his 9-9-9 tax plan or hear him mocking the names of Central Asian nations.

So here’s my prediction: Obama wins re-election by less than ten points, probably less than five.  Hold me to this.
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