This is for my friends Cathy, Ira, Eddie, Ken, Bill, Bruce, Linda, Yvonne and about 50 others.
For some reason, anytime I write about the sainted Barack Obama I hear from you.
Since I never answer your letters, calls, e-mails and Facebook postings, perhaps I can best tell you how I feel with these 15 words:
"I DIDN'T TELL YOU TO DRINK THE KOOL-AID. YOU DID IT ALL BY YOURSELVES."
It's not that I don't sympathize with you, but when you write and say icky things I tend to be sensitive and (sob) I hurt easily.
When a good friend tells me, "I never read any column you write about Obama," I'm sometimes brought to tears.
Perhaps the best way I can demonstrate that I know how you're feeling is by telling you about a dream I had when I was a little kid, about 10 years old. I remember having this dream about being the youngest member of the New York Yankees and the great Joe DiMaggio was telling me that I was the greatest second basemen he had ever played with.
Since I was probably the single worst athlete in the history of Brooklyn, I was thrilled, and I remember trying to be as modest as my radio hero, Jack Armstrong, the All American Boy, and at the same time enjoying the attention of this great ballplayer. Then all of a sudden I felt something tugging on my foot. At first I was frightened and then I started to struggle as the tugging on my foot made the bubble of my dream burst. I opened my eyes and my mother was saying, "Wake up, Jerry. You've got to get ready for school."
"Oh no," I thought, "I'm not going to be playing for the Yankees." Joe DiMaggio was not going to be my best friend and worse, I was going to school where that mean old bitch, Miss O'Connor, would constantly hit my head against the blackboard and once threw a chalk eraser at me.
"You woke me up," I said. "I was having a nice dream and you had to wake me up and ruin it." There were tears in my eyes. "I was having the best dream and you ruined it."
That made my mother smile and that made me even more angry as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. I didn't tell her about the dream – she wouldn't understand. And besides, it was between Joe DiMaggio and me.
I'm starting to notice the same thing going on with all you Barack Obama supporters. You're taking on that angry look. Six years ago you had a dream that this handsome, incredibly dynamic speaker was going to be a great President.
He was going to change the world with his words.
He spoke of hope and change in the most eloquent way.
He never quite told you how he was going to make that change, and he was stingy with the details as to how we were all going to have hope.
Then reality pulled on the foot of all you Obama lovers and you had to wake up.
But just as I was being unrealistic for blaming my mom because I didn't turn out to be a second baseman for the Yankees, you, my Obama friends, are being unrealistic when you blame me because you're disappointed in him as a President.
What the hell are you getting mad at me for? I didn't vote for him even once; you guys voted for him twice. And don't tell me you voted for him because the Republicans didn't come up with a candidate you could vote for.
All of you would rather your arms fell off than pull the lever and vote for a Republican. Hell, you're still fighting against the memory of a great President named Ronald Reagan.
So let's have peace between us.
Guys, he's your President. If you like your President, keep your President.
If you think he's a great President, that's fine with me. If you think he didn't screw up health care, if you think he was right in cozying up to Putin, fine. If you think Putin and every other world leader doesn't think he's a lightweight, that's OK with me.
If you liked his "red line" speech in Syria, fine.
If you think his blurting out the other day that his greatest fear is that someone is going to nuke New York City is not the most frightening thing you ever heard come out of the mouth of an American President, that's fine with me.
Just imagine how you would have tortured me with your messages if George W. Bush had ever said something as dumb as that.
Of course George W. would never give terrorists anything to aim at and besides, the poor bastard couldn't pronounce nu-cu-lar . . . nu cloo-lur . . . nuclear if his life depended on it.
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