Author: BC

I have a wonderful friend and former colleague, let’s call him Jim, in many ways a second father, who always listened and counseled me on family challenges I would confront as my kids grew. Parenting a child with autism is tough for the most enlightened, and believe me, I never claimed to be Father Knows Best.

This is a godly man, strident and sharing in his personal relationship with Christ, a devotion that seems to have always provided him with a serenity I envied. He has two fully separate families and is the type of patriarch one would surely do well to emulate. He is kind, and devoted, fully caring, a wonderful friend to have…. until you discuss current events. Suddenly a switch goes off, and his voice gets a bit more terse. When he chuckles, it is with a strain of cynicism. And when pushed for facts he feels should be self-evident, the serenity is gone, replaced by grievance and exasperation.  Sean Hannity makes it all so sensible, so easy to digest. Why can’t you see that?

I always abided Jim’s allegiance to Fox/AM, but since Inauguration we have become estranged.  I was up in Maine mourning for my nation when I saw he had posted on FB, maybe the only time he had ever done so, a few minutes after Trump’s wretched 16 minute diatribe… “So thankful for my God and country” I suppose the rapturous moment got the best of him.

Jim has reached out by phone several times, but our conversations have been brief and stilted, my patience at a premium, and his ability to make small talk sorely tested. The last time he left a voicemail I simply erased it without much thought. He is an older man, in receding if not failing health, and at some point there is no doubt I will get a call that he has passed. I have no doubt about the regret I will feel for distancing myself from him; it will haunt me, I am certain.  I accept full blame for our falling out, and feel shame for the occurance  Yet and still, I move on.

I am not narcisstic enough to believe my situation is unique. And I am neither popular enough to afford the loss of friends, nor cold enough not to suffer the void such cutting of ties leaves, but I appear unable to get past abiding allegiance to Trump and Fox/AM.  Whether that means I am simply an asshole, or actually more obliged to principle than I realized is I suppose a symptom of a society under duress, it’s patience stretched thin.

Yet and still, one thing can’t be in doubt, and if it ever does become a debatable point, our ruination will be complete… what comes out of this White House and the relentless segments on Fox and the AM dial is a Shit River of lies and distortions, in full service to a narrative founded on our worst inclinations and overtly anathema to everything I was taught to be proud of my country for. The fact that it infects most of the GOP enables a crisis that threatens a catastrophe.

I suppose if we survive this nadir in which we have allowed our governance and national political life to descend I will have to reckon with the question of whether I panicked and allowed important relationships to suffer. Whether I was the very embodiment of what I decried. But from where I sit now, as our POTUS vomits dictums to a team of cowering sycophants, and relentlessly repeats his scurrilous lies about the institutions that make our freedom possible, that will be a good problem to have, since we will still be a going concern.

I’m sorry Jim.   BC

1. When I was 7 years old my mom enrolled me in Bucky’s Boys Club, run by a very loud and energetic old man named Bucky Harris. As I acclimated my first day, there seemed to me to be a countless number of kids, many older and more assertive than me. The highlight of the afternoon was swimming in their pool, which had a diving board, something I had, believe it or not, never experienced up to that point in my young life.

Now understand that we lived only a couple of blocks from Lake Michigan, and I had already spent countless hours in the water, and assumed that I knew how to swim.  So when Bucky barked out for a division of campers into swimmers and non-swimmers, I just figured I was a swimmer even though I had never actually been in the deep end of a swimming pool. Well, we all lined up at that diving board and one by one kids, some more tentatively than others, walked the plank and jumped into the pool. As my turn approached it suddenly dawned on me that in fact I never had jumped into water over my head and I was actually clueless about the proper technique to survive what now seemed a reckless action. This realization, coupled with the anxiety being thrust into the public eye, rendered me both thoughtless and speechless as I proceeded to simply march off the board and commence drowning in front of the entire camp.

It was Bucky, himself, who actually dove in and saved my sorry ass, and as he got me out of the pool, he seemed to my pathetic eye the most pissed off human being I had ever met.  I suppose I was coughing/gagging a bit, and surely looked to be one of the lamest kids he had come across, but when he actually addressed me, it was calmly but direct. He asked me my name and I told him. Billy, he said, see what happens when you don’t tell the truth? I started to stammer that I really did know how to swim, but even to my searching 7 year old brain, the absurdity of my entreaty was evident. I vowed to myself then and there two things: 1) Learn to really frickin swim, not just in the shallows of a lake, but in water over my head; and 2) never BS when the consequences are both dire and imminently verifiable.  Anyway, I think that’s what I promised myself.

This childhood memory serves as an analogous point of departure for our current national predicament. Our POTUS knew from the minute he came down the escalator at Trump Tower to announce his candidacy ala ugly racist diatribe that he couldn’t even dog paddle his way through a policy discussion on any issue he would face. And  it was equally clear from the beginning that he didn’t give this little bump in his road to sowing chaos on the electoral process a second thought because he never dreamed he would have to jump off the diving board. Even as the other campers dove out of the race, transforming Priebus’ February declaration before the Iowa Straw Poll that there had never been such a collection of political talent into a signature example of Fox/AM delusion, Trump stayed in line for the diving board,  figuring the general election voters would surely keep him dry and safe.

From Labor Day to Election Day he ran as exactly the wretch he was, devoted only to creating the narrative to explain his landslide defeat, laying most on a “rigged system”, and a co-conspiring GOP.  He had much to look forward to after his trouncing; he would surely profit handsomely on the adulation of his wretched core base, in combination with a beautiful partnership with nihilist media, fully facilitated by Steve Bannon.

But then….. he had to jump in the pool!! And this is where we have been since last January. In the deep end, floundering and desperately awaiting our Bucky to save us. Trump thrashes about every hour, now resigned to his fate, but fully unwilling to learn any stroke that may get him to the side without causing further damage. His is a singular quest to preserve himself from the sinking ship he never wanted to captain, even as his passengers flounder helplessly, many actually abiding, even cheering his stewardship.

It is our intent to shed light on our predicament while holding vigil for Bucky to arrive, all the while conceding he may have left the building. Regardless, there is a story that matters happening right now, and we’re not going to let it play out unobserved, without at least throwing in our two cents. From Mar-A-Lago to Youngstown…. This is The Dystopia Report! BC