George H.W. Bush and a Young Boy’s Foray into Politics
I was confused. Had I done something wrong? What the hell was a democrat and why didn’t they like republicans? And what was a republican, anyway? I looked at one of the pamphlets. Maybe I’d discover something awful about this George Bush guy. But nothing terrible was there: flew a plane in World War II, was our Vice President, did something with something called the CIA, was a congressman — whatever that was. I was nervous to deliver any more pamphlets. For the rest of my route, if it looked like someone was home, I avoided the house completely.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?