The Rude Case for Hillary Clinton (Part 2: A Mom's Perspective)

From Deborah S.: To quote the late, great Amy Winehouse, “What kind of fuckery is this?” Seriously, what the fucking fuckery is this? I was taking the unending election fuckery in stride until it started to affect my millennial children. Yeah, mother bear has been threatened and this bitch is pissed. Leave my cubs alone, motherfucker. Yes, of course, I am referring to the orange-tinged, anus-mouthed clown.

As any well-educated liberal can tell you, we are so proud when our spawn come around to our way of thinking and take an interest in something other than themselves. God bless you, Bernie Sanders, for motivating my 20-something kids to get into politics, give a shit about their future, and see how they can play a role and possibly make a difference. Thank you again to the benevolent Bernie for supporting Hillary and encouraging my kids to follow the yellow brick road. (Once a kid believes in something, like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy or Bernie, it is just crushing when that fantastical reality vaporizes. “My life is a lie," “I’m depressed and need meds," etc.)

So my kids are on the Hillary bandwagon, feeling like life once again has meaning, and then the buffoonish Hitler, buffered by Comey-induced idiocracy and neighbors who steal our Clinton/Kaine signs, start to become overwhelmed with anxiety that a Trump presidency could become a reality. (No, I’m not sharing my Xanax or stash of indica… How did you guys know about that anyway?)

This endless political tragicomedy is causing severe anxiety. My pacifistic angels, my empathetic offspring now feel that what they are so passionate about could be taken away in less than 36 hours. The world that was so carefully cultivated for them, and so honorably represented by the Obama family, is teetering on the edge.

Trying to compare this to my feelings about a Reagan presidency and how we made it through those precarious times is small comfort. History books, their only frame of reference, make Reagan into some kind of political icon and hero of the free world. “Look,” my son says as he visits the remains of the Berlin Wall. “Reagan brought this down.”

My kids realize that Trump isn’t bringing down any walls. And he certainly isn’t building any bridges, or saving the planet, or affording women and minorities the respect and rights that they are entitled to. They see him for what he is, and they are more than anxious; they are afraid. And there is nothing I can do to make them feel better, except to encourage them to vote, and to encourage their friends to vote, and to stand strong for what they believe in, and keep the faith that Americans will do the right thing. We have to believe that the educated, hard-working, pragmatists will stand up and be heard and overcome the ignorant, crazy, lazy Trump followers.

I wish a hug and a kiss were still enough to make them feel better. If there were Clinton/Kaine band-aids, I would cover my kids in them like armor and send them to the polls with the feeling of excitement and anticipation that they had when they voted in the Democratic primary. All I can do is tell them that everything will be OK. Stay faithful. Everything will be OK.

Or we’ll sell the house and move to Canada.