Dear Mr. President

I've been doing a lot of thinking about the economy lately. We all have, thanks in no small part to the media. I don't blame them, I mean if I could get up everyday and write the same thing over and over, I'd likely do it too. So, we are bombarded with news of how bad the economy is, how low the Dow has fallen, and how yet another bank has taken our hard-earned bailout money and used it to throw a party on the moon.

But all this noise that passes for news has me thinking about a time many years ago, when I wasn't much older than Baby Bear, and my father lost his job. It was the last time that bad news dominated our airwaves, though I don't remember hearing about it quite so much, except in certain places, like family events at my father's union hall, and in hushed tones in my childhood kitchen. But it happened, just as it happened to lots of other families, particularly families like ours, solidly blue collar and lower middle class, living in Southwestern Pennsylvania.

At the time I had a Fisher Price record player, and a number of 45s that looking back seemed a bit mature for my young ears. But one tiny record in particular has come to mind a lot lately, and try as I might to find more information about it on the vast expanse of the internet, I'm afraid I'm the only person who remembers it. The song was called, I believe, "Dear Mr. President" and was written from the point of view of a man, not unlike my father, who had lost his job. To this day I remember many of the words, and can even recall the tune, which I find interesting when so many other things from even more recently are lost in my memory.

"I've got payments on my house, payments on my car, and the unemployment checks now they don't seem to go that far. Every thing I worked for, well it seemed to slip away, I don't think I'll get my benefits, my compensation pay. I got a wife and three children, depending on this man. I got a government in Washington that does not give a damn. So please Mr. President, won't you Mr. President, open up the steel mills for me."

Granted my father hadn't worked in a steel mill. He worked at a factory though, making, if I recall correctly, grates for industrial furnaces. but the song still rang so close to our family situation (minus two of the three kids) that I played it over and over again on that Fisher Price phonograph.

I don't think that children's record player was meant to handle such weighty tunes, just the way a child of my age wasn't meant to carry such a heavy burden. But we both did, and the economy continued its slide, and I went on to march with my father in a number of Labor day parades, chanting even more grown up phrases like "Reagan, Reagan he's no good, send him back to Hollywood" and "One, two, three, four, out the door in '84."


By '84, however, I was 8 years old. Far older and wiser, I had outgrown my childish records, and my father, due entirely to the generosity of one of my playmates' fathers, had a new job. But we still marched. We marched for my father's fellow union members, who hadn't had the same luck as him, and we marched because we believed, truly believed, that this country could be far better than the awful news cycle we had found ourselves in. And we still chanted, because we knew those chants, like the songs on my record player, gave others hope that they were not alone.

So these days, as I listen to the endless drone of bailout and foreclosure noise, I remember my father. And my records, and those early years of worry. And I thank my lucky stars, and my father (not The Father, but my father, the one who made those furnace grates) for all his hard work and sacrifice that allow me to hear the noise this time, but not absorb it.

But lest my father be reading this from wherever he is, don't worry Dad. I still remember the lessons learned from that record player, and those early days, and I'll always remember the words to those songs and chants. So no matter how nice Baby Bear and Mama Bear and I may have it, we'll always vote and fight like you taught me.

UPDATE: One of my amazing friends (who is a librarian...shout out to librarians!) helped me figure out the song title, which led me to this - a YouTube video of someone playing the 45. It was amazing for me to hear this after all these years. Hope you enjoy it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aka2CGafYsM

The Day After

It has been nearly a decade since I have felt this good on a day after a Presidential election. Four years ago I was dumbstruck, and four years before that I was still waiting for results. But this year, tired as I am after an early Tuesday morning of election protection volunteering, I feel hopeful about this country, and confident that the first president elected during my son's life will be one who deeply cares about the issues that will face my little man.

But I feel hopeful for another reason, not just because of the election of Barack Obama, not just because of the amazing number of young black men I saw leaving suburban polling places yesterday and proudly affixing their "I voted" sticker to their chest, not just because of the amazing outpouring of happiness I saw all over this nation last night.

I feel hopeful also because last night, in his first speech as President-Elect, despite the hateful ballot measures passing in CA, FL, AZ and AR, our next President included "gay and straight" in his litany of the different folks who came together and demanded change. And the words rolled off his tongue more easily than I have ever heard from any politician, save maybe for a few of our local greats here in Minnesota.

I feel hopeful because he said it, and included us, and has brought so many people together that I believe he can do the same for families like mine, for people like me, and for those who fear my family. Because I know it can only be fear that makes people feel that they should have the power to prevent me from commiting myself in front of my family, my friends, and my God (in whatever form my God may take), to the mother of my child, my best friend, my partner for life and beyond. And I know it can only be fear that caused the voters of Arkansas to decide that two otherwise completely qualified hopeful parents should be prevented from adopting or fostering a child who needs a home simply because those parents happen to be of the same gender.

I am hopeful President Obama can bring about a time when my infant son does not have to worry about someone else deciding that his family, his mommies, are such a threat that discrimination against them needs to be codified as the law of the land. I am hopeful we will see that day, and that it will be in Tommy's lifetime. And I believe it will, because America is a different place now than it was 10, 20, 30 years ago, and I am hopeful it will be even more different, even better, even fairer for all families and all children, in the future.

So if you have that same hope, please vow to continue this fight for a fairer America. We're on our way, but we're not entirely there yet.