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Edited on Thu Dec-15-05 03:43 PM by Vektor
I use humor to mask my raw, bleeding heart.
May as well get it all out now that we're having a "share" fest.
I realize I might come across as a giant goofball who writes bad poetry and makes constant WMD jokes, but the truth of the matter is, the love, respect, admiration, appreciation, and utter loyalty I feel toward the man who would/should/WILL be President is so pure, real, and unadulterated that it's challenging to find the words to describe it.
Pardon me if typos follow. My eyes are welling up and I can't see my keyboard.
John Kerry has been my hero since childhood. He was elected Lt. Governor in my home state of Massachusetts in 1982 - I was just a little kid. My parents were proud, staunch, well-educated professional Democrats who always took an interest in local politics. My father is an air force veteran, my Mom is currently serving as Director of Public Health for a rural, impoverished CA county with a high Native American and Hispanic population. They have always served the public, always rooted for the underdog, and always admired and respected John Kerry for doing the same.
As have I.
The first time I saw JK on TV, I thought he was "dreamy". He reminded me of another Massachusetts Democrat with the same initials who had been assassinated before I was born, but I had seen in the media many times. JK captivated me. Two years later, in 1984, he was elected Senator. His television and local appearances became more common. My parents paid close attention to his activities, and in turn, so did I. His soulful aqua eyes, soothing voice, imposing height, and luxurious dark hair made him look like a knight in shining armor to me. While other girls my age were lusting after Bo Duke, this pre-teen was planning to marry John Kerry. (Back then I had braces, a bad perm, a HORRIBLE acne problem, and a uni-brow. It was wicked awesome. He'd have surely been overcome with passion at the site of me.)
The few friends I had at that age didn't quite understand what I saw in him - "He's wicked old", they'd say, and I'd respond with "I like a mature man - you can keep your redneck Bo Duke."
As the years went on, I decided to try to love another man besides John Kerry and eventually took a boyfriend. (My pimples were waning by then, my sister taught me how to pluck, and the perm had grown out... I still had braces.) He was tall with thick dark hair, and blue eyes. He had a deep voice, was a "nerdy intellectual" and at the age of 16, had a penchant for woolen navy pea coats and nice scarves. He was an avid reader and intellectual. He played guitar. He was no John Kerry, but he tried.
We broke up on good terms, because I really just wasn't all that into a huge relationship at that age. I still maintained my love for the John, and continued to perk my ears at the sound of his name...but life went on, and I got caught up in the tumultuous world of TEEN DRAMA. I never got too "politically involved." I had opinions for sure, and if you dared ask them, you had no trouble gleaning that I was a Liberal Democrat. I just never thought too much about politics at that age because I was so focused on my own little teen-aged world.
At the end of 1989, I moved to the reddest county in CA. Long story, had to do with Mom's job. I had a hard time leaving my friends, and my hometown, but the worst time giving up my Senator. When my parents dropped the bomb on me that were were leaving the idyllic town of Westport, MA for California, I cried and protested, had a screaming fight with my parents, and fled the house announcing histrionically, "I'm running away to kill myself." I got as far as my friend Polly's house, about a half a mile away at the Point, where my parents arrived and saved me from impending suicide by Cheeto's and ice cream.
I turned 18 shortly after arriving in CA. I could have moved back to MA, legally, but I really am a Mommy and Daddy's girl. I didn't want to leave my parents, as pissed as I was at them for uprooting me. The first election I was eligible to vote in was 1992. I had little interest. I was going through a phase where I was distancing myself from politics because I had been burned so bad when I was forced to move 3,500 miles away from John Kerry. What did I care about any of these other politicians?
Jump forward a decade or so (thank God, huh, readers?) I am now BACK in Red County after having moved away two separate times to Florida, where I spent a total of six years. I was married, settled, working, going to school full time and mighty pissed that were were about to bomb Iraq. 9/11 had happened, the world was in tumult, another election was looming over the hills, and the current President was an idiot.
The switch flipped back on. The long buried political fervor rose to the surface and I began devouring every bit of political news I could find. I needed to catch up, get back in the game. I had to speak out, be heard, put my two cents in...
Then the call came. It was my Mom...the primaries were starting...
"Hey, have you heard who is going to run for President?"
"I don't know. Burt Reynolds?" HAHAHAHAHA
"No." She said her voice dropping that proverbial octave that always tells me what she is about to say is no joke.
"John Kerry."
Just then, a swift and blinding unseen force delivered a sharp blow right between my shoulder blades, and right in the pit of my stomach at the same time. The wind was knocked out of me and I kind of fell onto the couch gasping. Then the floodgates opened, and unleashed a decade of tears. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, all I could do was cry and cry and cry.
Stunned silence from my Mom finally gave way to her asking "Are you alright?"
The only response I could choke out was "Oh, Mom, please don't let this be a lie."
The first thing I did, once I regained my composure, was finally register to vote. As a Democrat, of course.
The summer of 2004 was the happiest, yet most stressful and overwhelming one of my life. It was a time of butterflies-in-the belly hope and gripping fear combined. I hoped for a better future, I feared for an ailing America. I was glued to the TV, cross-legged, sitting on the floor in front of it, watching every Kerry appearance. I taped them and replayed them over and over again. I traveled to a rally in Oregon and nearly passed out when he waved to me and gave me the thumbs up. Every time his face appeared on-screen, it was like a ray of light from heaven. Every time he spoke, every word he said was a direct link to my beautiful Massachusetts, the state I'd left behind, and had a cavernous ulcer of homesickness and displacement in my heart for. He was light and hope.
He was HOME.
I joined the Kerry blog and became the world's most annoying activist. I terrorized the right wingers in my town with frequent doses of cold hard truth, and prompted my poor Mom to suggest I might need "medication." :-) You see...I wasn't sleeping so well. I was tied in knots. I was SO HAPPY that my hero was running for president, but so anguished because of all the attacks I was hearing. Every negative word was like a personal attack on me and my home. It was like a slap in the face, a kick in the teeth, a punch in the gut. I wanted to scream at the naysayers "SHUT YOUR FILTHY LYING MOUTH! HE IS MY SENATOR. YOU DON'T KNOW HIM LIKE I DO. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. YOU HAVE NEVER EVEN LIVED IN MASSACHUSETTS. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY A GODDAMN WORD ABOUT JOHN KERRY."
I was like a grizzly bear protecting her cub. I wanted to take my razor sharp claws and rip the skin off someone's face when they spoke ill of him. But since de-gloving someone's skull isn't an effective campaigning tool, I took to the streets instead and got the word out. I risked life and limb actively and aggressively campaigning for Kerry in the reddest county in the state. I volunteered at my local Dem office, and put every fiber of my being into plugging for Kerry. I wrote letters to the editor of my RW rag newspaper and actually got published. I got harassed and threatened by local rednecks for my efforts. Every time that happened I just became more determined. I worked extra shifts, and had yard sales to raise money for Kerry's campaign.
I even cut back on shoe shopping.
I sent in my very first ballot. John Kerry for President! I drew the little line that connects the arrow extra thick so my vote would not be missed!
It was a time of hope, perseverance, and raw emotion.
Jump ahead again to BLACK TUESDAY.
I can't really go on about this too much because it is like reliving the brutal rape and murder of my will to live. It was the worst day of my life. It was worse than death. It was soul sucking emptiness.
I spent three days racked with sobs, laying in my bed in the dark, sincerely wishing for death to take me. I dropped out of life. I couldn't eat. I felt like I had fallen into the bowels of hell, and I had no desire to ever get out. I prayed I'd lose my mind entirely so that the reality of what had happened would never have to touch me. I thought about the near fatal car accident I had in Florida in 1998 where I rolled my van three times on the interstate after being hit by a truck. I recalled being helplessly trapped in a metal cage and being thrown head over heels like a rag doll, strapped in my seat, the world turning upside down over and over, the sounds of breaking glass and metal scraping on asphalt filling my ears...the smell of smoke and the taste of dirt and grass and blood. That was preferable to this, and I wished in retrospect that I HAD died in that accident so that I didn't have to try to claw my way out of the crumbled wreckage that was now my hemorrhaging soul.
When I finally DID stumble out of bed, I filled the tub with nearly scalding water and submerged myself in it, face and all, until my lungs were about to explode and I felt that I had sufficiently burned away all the pain and loathing I felt for the world around me.
Then I stumbled to the computer and switched it on.
What I saw was not at all what I expected.
All the Kerrycrats were still there. Sharing, comforting each other, recovering, planning, strategizing, discussing...
REGROUPING.
I put my toe in the water and announced my return to the blogosphere, and astoundingly, all my friends jumped up enthusiastically and wrapped their cyber arms around me and welcomed be back into the circle. And we all remain in touch to this day. As we planned for the future, little bits of tough leathery scar tissue began to granulate over the gaping holes in my psyche, and I began to heal, and have hope again.
John Kerry has unknowingly introduced me to some of the best friends I have ever had. He has taught me countless lessons about compassion, hope, faith, perseverance, strength and gentility.
Where Black Tuesday was the lowest point in my life, "Miraculous Sunday" was the most glorious. All of the pain and rancor I felt last year was nearly wiped clean by the feeling of his huge arms around me on that stage on Dec. 11, 2005. That was my wildest, longest fought dream come true. There remains only a tiny smoldering granule of rage that will keep me fueled for 2006 and beyond...
So forgive me if I tend to romanticize the awe I feel for this amazing man. It's not hard to do when you adore and appreciate someone so much, for so long. It's common to have a knight in shining armor complex for someone whose soul is so pure, whose heart is so true, and who represents the America and the world we all want to live in. One filled with love and endless possibility.
FOR EVERYONE.
Perhaps I use ribald humor and silly Haiku's to mask a pure love so deep that to touch would be like touching a hot soldering iron to a raw nerve ending. To show it unabashed would be like slicing open my abdomen and showing my vulnerable guts to the world.
If I let myself get too serious, too honest, I risk having my heart ripped out again. If I use a moat of humor to protect a fragile fortress of hope, maybe, just maybe, hurt and disillusionment won't darken my doorstep ever again.
So yeah, when I say "Kerry is hot" I really mean he's beautiful. When I say "he's total beefcake" I really mean he is a bastion of strength and fortitude. When I say "he's a stud" I really mean he's a hero.
Joking aside, my love, loyalty, and respect for John Kerry is deeper than a thousand oceans. I would singlehandedly fight tooth and nail, to the death, against an army of enemies and giants, riding into battle clad only in Banana Republic white linen on a pink Huffy bicycle with a handlebar basket festooned with plastic daisies, and let them rip the flesh from my bones to defend his honor and integrity. But I guarantee I'd take a few down with me.
Anyone who doubts this, I have some bear claws I can show you.
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