Political Commentary!

Because I used to teach English, I find I’m delighted by how dramatic the headlines have become. Traitor! Conspirator! Colluder! Coup d’e’tat! Apocalypse! America’s Scrabble skills keep getting stronger and stronger with every press conference and op-ed.
The babble and political bubbling is, at best, getting louder. At its worst, the brouhaha serves only to highlight how no one listens to the other side of the political aisle. Sure, message boards and marches vacillate between alternative outrage, but nothing seems to come of it.
So what’s a commentator to do? If no one’s listening, why speak? I’ve gone silent for a year now. I used to talk to anyone within earshot because I didn’t like Donald Trump. I told them I didn’t like his appointees. I spoke that I didn’t like how cavalier he was and still is with the presidency. I pointed out to everyone at the dinner table as well as the dry cleaner that Trump treated women and his family poorly. I found myself even talking to the mailman about how Trump justified his prejudices by coopting tragedy.
In spite of this, I didn’t affect much political change. I only earned an occasional stare at the grocery store or a not-so-subtle shift in the bleacher seating arrangements at my boy’s soccer game.
At my most outspoken, I confronted Betsey DeVos and her bodyguards when I came across her in D.C. (This made me feel better for a little bit, but no doubt put me on some watch list somewhere.) I wrote letters to my Republican Senators as well as my local paper. The responses to both underwhelmed in their impact. A politely-worded auto-reply from both officials and a ‘good job’ from my parents was all I received and generated from speaking my opinion.
In a fit of patriotic ambition, I even tried registering voters in the minority neighborhoods of my city. The Democrats organizing the drive didn’t show up at the appointed time. I hung around for 30 minutes in the parking lot of the closed office until hunger and apathy got the best of me.
After that, I’ve done nothing to contribute to the political discourse. I haven’t addressed any scandals or egregious events. I even tried to cut back on drinking in order to suppress the urge to speak out. Like the stone in the brook, I’ve managed to keep still, feeling the current pulling me towards somewhere unknown. Ignoring it, I resist and hope for quieter times.
Sometimes, while sitting on my porch, I even hope for grandchildren. I look forward to the immediacy of nap times and Cheerio snacks. I wish for the biggest political decision I have to make is to whom to give the biggest piece of cake to, my grandson or my granddaughter. I hope for these loud political times to be a memory, a national lesson learned perhaps. That way, my grandkids first words won’t be big Scrabble ones, like ‘Impeachment’ or ‘usurpation’.
