Wednesday, August 24, 2005
I grew up in Alaska, and it rained a lot. Because it was often too miserable to go outside, I used to run through the house like a crazy man. Back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, up and down the stairs. It would drive my parents crazy. My poor mom would always yell at me to stop running before I broke something.
One day, during a particularly manic marathon, I knocked over a very valuable knick knack that belonged to my grandmother. It shattered beyond all salvage. Completely destroyed. I remember my mom and dad sitting me down rather forcefully and demanding to know what happened and what I intended to do about it. I cried, and shouted that it wasn't my fault, that it shouldn't have been so close to the edge, that the floor shouldn't have been so slippery. They didn't buy any of it, and I spent the whole next summer working to pay my grandmother back. It was a hard lesson, but one that I've taken to heart: don't mess around if you can't pay the price.
Despite all my protestations, the only thing I didn't say to my folks that gray September afternoon was, "fuck you, mom and dad, it's not my problem. What are you going to do about it?" I was a devious little shit, and, yet, that never crossed my mind. (Of course, I wasn't a Republican.) If I had said that, I know how they would have replied: "You broke it; you get to fix it, you little bastard."
The Repubs are hammering a new meme regarding Iraq. Whenever anyone attacks them for the war in Iraq, they shout back: "Hey, what's done is done. What the hell should we do about it, huh, Mr. Smarty Pants?" Instead of responding like my parents, the democratic leaders just hem and haw and say "boy that's a tough problem."
No shit! It is a tough problem. But it's not our fucking problem! They broke Iraq. They broke the military. They can't just turn around, shrug their shoulders and say, "well, if you're so smart, you tell us how to fix it." Oh no. It ain't like that, you little bastards, you will pick up each and every little piece out there. And you will find a way to pay for it.
We told you not to run in the house.
One day, during a particularly manic marathon, I knocked over a very valuable knick knack that belonged to my grandmother. It shattered beyond all salvage. Completely destroyed. I remember my mom and dad sitting me down rather forcefully and demanding to know what happened and what I intended to do about it. I cried, and shouted that it wasn't my fault, that it shouldn't have been so close to the edge, that the floor shouldn't have been so slippery. They didn't buy any of it, and I spent the whole next summer working to pay my grandmother back. It was a hard lesson, but one that I've taken to heart: don't mess around if you can't pay the price.
Despite all my protestations, the only thing I didn't say to my folks that gray September afternoon was, "fuck you, mom and dad, it's not my problem. What are you going to do about it?" I was a devious little shit, and, yet, that never crossed my mind. (Of course, I wasn't a Republican.) If I had said that, I know how they would have replied: "You broke it; you get to fix it, you little bastard."
The Repubs are hammering a new meme regarding Iraq. Whenever anyone attacks them for the war in Iraq, they shout back: "Hey, what's done is done. What the hell should we do about it, huh, Mr. Smarty Pants?" Instead of responding like my parents, the democratic leaders just hem and haw and say "boy that's a tough problem."
No shit! It is a tough problem. But it's not our fucking problem! They broke Iraq. They broke the military. They can't just turn around, shrug their shoulders and say, "well, if you're so smart, you tell us how to fix it." Oh no. It ain't like that, you little bastards, you will pick up each and every little piece out there. And you will find a way to pay for it.
We told you not to run in the house.
