Friday, February 19, 2010

License To Brag

Even though I'm guilty of doing it shamelessly, I often apologize for bragging about my kids. Boasting parents can be extremely obnoxious. I preface whatever accomplishment Tom, Dick or Harry have scored by demurring slightly, then plunging into the proud mama pool. Likewise, I don't restrain criticism when my children screw up. There's probably some Zen bridge calling for humility between these two poles that I'm still struggling to cross. I never sported a bumper sticker declaring My Kid Is An Honor Student, or placed an "ad" in the back of a school yearbook lavishing praise and gushing about my shining star. But after twenty-two years of applauding my sons' various feats--cautioning them to keep egos in check--and cheering uncontrollably at one too many athletic events, I've hit a parental "personal best."

My firstborn has been accepted for a graduate school full ride at an Ivy. Part of the most famed triumvirate of The League, it shall remain nameless. Suffice it to say when I learned of this coup I wanted to buy time on a cable news channel to announce the news. Post a sign in the front yard. My hand is somewhat numb from grasping cellphone and land lines to spread the word. I had to wait 48 hours to post it as a Facebook status, while my circumspect son withheld the info from cyberspace for personal reasons. Had there been a megaphone handy, I would have climbed a ladder to the roof, shouting loudly enough to be audible throughout one of the largest subdivisions in our county. I was a woman possessed, a mother obsessed.

My husband is walking around with a satisfied grin on his face. But Dad's understated glow is no match for my manic joy and raging glory. Because hubby enjoys the recognition that accompanies his healthy career, while I back-burnered mine once Smarty Pants arrived. Smarty and his Bros are my career or have been, to one degree or another, for two decades. Which is why I feel (that dreaded psychobabble term) validation over this fortuitous turn of events. Now I've earned the right to a new career...writing one of those ridiculous books: "How To Raise An Ivy Leaguer, from Birth to Baccalaureate and Beyond."

Monday, February 8, 2010

Pathetic Palin

After a blessed absence from the national stage, in the wake of jumping ship as Alaska's governor, the most ludicrous player on the political scene is back with what bumper stickers call "Palin Power." Most pundits give Sarah Palin credit for her latest shrewd moves--publishing an instant best-seller (she needed help to write), signing on as a commentator for Fox News (the de facto propaganda machine for the Far Right) and showing up wherever the Tea Partiers, Birthers or 'Nazi Health Care' Killers converge, to make speeches at $100,000 a pop. Buzz is Sarah resorted to crib notes penned in her palm to pull off public speaking.

She appeared on Oprah with her unwed mother daughter, Bristol, the 19-year-old mom of Tripp, whose ill-timed birth could have been avoided with Sex Ed 101. Oprah gave Bristol the opportunity to retract a statement avowing she'd "never" have sex outside of marriage again. Bristol, about as articulate as a tree trunk, stuck to her guns. Aside from all the justifiably nasty things we can say about Barracuda, propping up her kid as a poster child for chastity, after parading the then-pregnant poor thing around the campaign trail back in '08, seems the height of bad taste.

The fundamental truth is that if Sarah Palin looked like Susan Boyle, none of this would be happening. The woman does not have smarts, skills or serious ideas. What she has is looks, a wink and a nod. She has parlayed the anger many felt over the election of an African-American Democrat to the White House and a Blue majority in Congress into a platform for her free-for-all Facebook-ready blather. Most Republicans dodge the question of whether they'd vote for her as a presidential candidate, while basking in the fury she foments in the Seeing Red brigade. If they were honest they'd admit she's nothing more than a successful ad campaign, designed to encourage people to jump on a bandwagon labeled "We're Mad As Hell and Don't Know What To Do About It."

Conservatives will publicly laud Palin while laughing behind her back, thankful that a great-looking, leggy brunette is out stumping for a cause no one can identify. Everything is wrong, according to them, but they have few, if any, plausible ideas about how to make it right. A clear-thinking, knowledgeable alternative with a real agenda isn't necessary in a society that falls for a former beauty queen whose claims to fame are fishing, hunting and cooking up one Mean Moose Mush.