September, 2016

Let me tell you what happened when we watched that debate on Monday night. The whole thing was so stupid you won’t believe it. Here’s the scene. It begins just before dinner with Jack the Jerk whining … as usual.

“I don’t see why we have to watch it. I’m not even old enough to vote,” he says and makes that stupid face with his tongue hanging out and his eyes crossed. He thinks he’s really something.

So I tell him. “You know how they can be. Mom wants us to think for ourselves and make up our own minds. We should know what’s going on. She doesn’t want us to be like dad.”

Jack answers me. “Dad does so think. Listen, Alicia,” he says to me, “why should we always do what mom says?” Then he says, “And why do you always take her side? She’s a control freak. So leave me alone. Chill out!”
It’s the same old argument. My family is fractured by sex and politics. My brother is sixteen and my dad is forty-three and you’d think they were buddies. “Jack’s a chip off the old block,” my father’s always boasting. My old man thinks he’s so superior. So he looks at mom and me and shakes his head. “Too bad you girls can’t be like Jack and me, Sarah. You think Alicia is anything like you? No way! Well maybe that’s a good thing. I hope she doesn’t grow up to be like you.”

And then my mother gets all huffy and puffy like and says, “Hoo hah! Mr. Big Shot! Alicia and I are not girls. We’re women.”

And then he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And she sticks out her chin and comes close up in his face and shouts, “You wanna know what we’re thinking? We’re thinking you’re a sexist pig! That right, isn’t it Alicia?”

You think this doesn’t go on every night? Well maybe not every night, but every night we talk about politics or the war in the Middle East or even Obama, for God’s sakes. We can’t talk about anything serious or —shit—you just wouldn’t wanna be there. My dad gets really pompous like. Mom gets really up tight and she looks at me … like we’re co-conspirators or something. You oughta see her. She raises her eyebrows, scrunches her shoulders up around her neck and cocks her head to one side. She looks like a sick gorilla. And she’s waiting for me to agree with her. She’s counting on me to take her side. You know what I mean? So what do I always do? Well, I don’t want to disappoint her but I don’t want to get into the middle of that fight so I say “No comment.” And dad grins, Jack smirks and mom sighs.

Anyway—on Monday night when Jack says he doesn’t want to watch the debate they tell him he has to. Mom takes off her apron and takes command. “You two finish the dishes. Tom, you take out the garbage,” and she tells him to find the cat and bring him in. Our cat’s a letch. It’s in his alley cat genes. He single-handedly has produced at least ten or twelve stray kittens in my neighborhood. Mom leaves the kitchen, and on the way upstairs she calls down, “I’m gonna change my dress before the Kleinmans get here.”

Jack the Jerk never knows when to shut up and he starts banging on the table. “You invited the Kleinmans? I don’t believe it!” He’s shouting and I’m thinking he’s making such a stink that maybe he’ll win. Then he throws up his hands and makes to leave the kitchen. Big mistake.

That really gets my mother going and she shouts back, “I didn’t invite Jesse and Harold Kleinman. Your father and I both invited them. We think you should see how an open exchange of ideas really works. So you’re coming tonight and you’re going to be polite. Understand?” And Jack knows he made a mistake so he doesn’t sass her but he looks like if she fell down dead right at that minute, he wouldn’t stop to pick her up. My mother tells us to finish the dishes and tells Jack to make sure his junk isn’t spread out all over the place.” Then she disappears.

Jack doesn’t know when to stop. “I’m not going to watch that debate! No way!” Jack shouts after her, but he’s not so sure anymore so he starts stacking the dirty dishes. “Trump is stupid and Hillary’s over the hill. They’re just two old farts who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

All this time my father’s been standing there like a dummy. He decides it’s his turn to put his foot down. As if my mom’s foot isn’t strong enough. He chimes in. “You listen to me young man. You and your sister will come and watch the debate with your mother and me and the Kleinmans. They’re our neighbors. Don’t you dare embarrass us.”

You can see my father’s face turning red and you can hear his blood boiling and you can feel his heart going thump-thump. It looks like he’s gonna have a stroke or something. But he grabs the sack of garbage and heads for the door. You gotta give my mother credit. She really knows how to handle the old guy. She lets him think he’s in charge. What a laugh.

Jack always wants to get in the last word so he shouts “The Kleinmans are jerks and you’re a jerk. I hate Trump. I despise Clinton. I don’t have to watch them if I don’t want to. It’s a free country! it’s a democracy, isn’t it?”

And my dad shoots him down with, “Not in this house it isn’t. You just shut up mister. Democracy? Democracy? Maybe if you paid more attention to the news instead of playing games on your computer all the time, maybe then you’d earn the right to live in this country.”

At 9:00 we’re all there in the living room. My father’s playing the perfect host in charge of everything alcoholic. My mother’s fussing over the cookies. Would you believe she went to the Big Y just to get something to munch on while the TV’s on? She bought something for everybody—chocolate chip cookies, plain vanilla wafers, and some gluten-free stuff just in case. The Kleinmans are passing around “chips and dips” that they brought over. The four of them are acting like it’s a party or something. Jack and I are sitting on the side watching them and thinking is this really an example of civic duty. In a way, it’s kind of entertaining, certainly better than the debate. We love watching our parents act like idiots.
So after the two candidates shake hands in false comradery and the moderator tells them to behave themselves, we sit back to listen, become enlightened, turn into responsible citizens, and vote wisely. Just then Jack stands up and says he has a big French test in the morning and a paper on “Why I Love Beyoncé” that’s due tomorrow. So of course, they have to excuse him and Mrs. K remarks, “what a conscientious young man” and my father says, “You can always count on Jack to be on time and smart on his feet, Just like his old man.” And my father gives that shit-eating grin he always does when he’s lying.

I can’t believe my parents are letting Jack get away with this. Jack study? Are you kidding? The only thing he’s ever studied is how to be a bull-shit artist. He’s King of the Bull-shitters! So of course, he gets away with it and runs upstairs to listen to some rap music and check Facebook for any sleazy stories he can pass along. The Kleinmans are smiling. My mother is fuming.

The debate is on NBC and Lester Holt is the moderator. Now there is one patient man. But NBC? The only thing they’re good at is football games and “Days of Our Lives”. Dodo stuff. How come they get to run the show?
Anyway, Holt opens the debate. The first question is about the economy. All about jobs and wages and the top 1% stuff. We gotta be in the other 99% or we’d be living on Park Avenue instead of in this Long Island pseudo-intellectual Never-Never-Land. I’m thinking maybe this is gonna be interesting after all. I’m in college and I’m majoring in Art History—definitely an unsaleable skill. Maybe one of them‘ll make a plan so I won’t be flipping burgers at McDonald’s while I dream about being curator at the Wadsworth or even MOMA.

So I’m listening and I don’t notice what’s going on. It’s pretty quiet from the sofa and my dad’s in his own world sitting in his own personal leather chair and he’s sitting back just staring at Hillary. He’s chuckling. He’s shaking his head every time she ends a sentence. She’s making a lot of sense to me. She’s got all these ideas but my father’s smiling and then he says “Pie in the sky. That’s all it is. Pie in the sky.”

My mother’s staring at the TV like she expects someone will crown Hillary Queen of the World. She’ll solve all our problems and they’ll disappear.

Mrs. K asks “Do you think she can do all that?”

And Mr. K says “Don’t know.”

My mom waves her hand. “Shh. I wanna hear this.”

Dad says “What for?”

Hillary looks pretty good to me. I’m gonna vote for her. When Trump starts to talk the living room air gets murky. There’s a storm a-brewing. My mother’s muttering and my dad says “Shut up, Sarah. I wanna hear what the man has to say.”

“Not worth listening to,” she answers. “Anyone want some more wine? I’ll get it. Tom, you can just sit there and listen to Trump babble.” She asks the Kleinmans “Have you ever noticed how that thief narrows his eyes and purses his lips all the time? That means either he’s about to lie about himself or he’s about to attack anyone he doesn’t like. He lies about them too.”

“Who made you so smart? You can read faces now? Go! Go! Serve the damned cookies and shut up for once, will you?” My father swivels around in his chair and turns his back to her. Now he’s getting really mad.
My mom slaps her thighs, pushes herself up, and storms over to the goodies. “Don’t mind him,” she says and she opens another bottle of wine. “He’s just a defensive dumb Republican.”

The Kleinmans don’t want any wine. They grab a handful of cookies. My father dips a chip and my mom pours herself a super big glass of Merlot.

About five minutes later, the TV debate starts to escalate. At the same time the living room is getting hot. I’m thinking Donald Trump is a dumb jerk. Like a “know it all” but he’s really a “know nothing.” And I’m thinking if he wins, I’m gonna move to Canada. And if Canada won’t have me, I hear Australia will. Or I’ll go someplace else. Maybe Fiji or Bali or somewhere. I’ll veg out in the sun and pray that the nuclear cloud blows the other way.
Did you watch the debate? Well, you know how Hillary smiles and talks and Trump interrupts her and frowns and bangs on the lectern and doesn’t stop and he interrupts Holt and it’s getting worse and worse. This incredible, not-to-be-missed confrontation, isn’t anywhere near half over yet and it’s getting super ridiculous. I can’t help myself and I start to laugh and that does it. All hell breaks loose.

“What’s so funny, Miss Smarty Pants? You think it’s something to laugh about. No more money! You can put yourself through college. You think I won’t do it? Art History? Junk! You don’t know anything. So just shut up!”
Mom butts in. “Leave her alone. Alicia’s entitled to her opinion. And I happen to agree with her.”
“Hillary’s a menace.” The fight goes on. “She hasn’t done anything. Like Trump says. If she’s so smart, how come she didn’t fix things when she was in Washington?”

“You think she could do anything what with your Republican cronies not doing anything but vote down anything Obama wants to do. You guys won’t even listen. You’re all racists and sexist male chauvinist pigs—and gun freaks. Trump a little Hitler and he’s growing bigger every day. You can put that in your hat and smoke it!” And she stands up and so does my dad and they’re right up close, face to face, and they’re yelling and yelling and yelling.
My father says she’s polluted my mind and what’s wrong with having guns and he’s going to buy a gun—a great big one. And then he shouts “Hillary’s a bitch!”

“Trump’s a threat!”

“What’s he done he’s so awful? Tell me, Sarah, my dear, my little pumpkin, I dare you, tell me what’s he’s done that’s as bad as that Clinton bitchy witch,” and he starts chanting “Hillary, Hillary, the stupid bitch, doesn’t even know which way is which.”

Can you believe it? I’m thinking to myself, my progenitor is amazingly clever or maybe he just thought of it and saved it for the right moment. More likely he heard it somewhere and passed it off as his own.
I’m as bad as Jack and I hear myself saying “Hey. “Is that original? Or is it something Michele said and you copied it, like some other Trump I happen to know.”

My mom father bellows, “Trump is just telling it like it is. We need to pull together to save this country. We gotta make it strong again! America for Americans!”

My mom is pacing back and forth. “What about the things he says about women? He hates women and anyone who says he doesn’t should have his head examined. And Mexicans? What does he say about Mexicans? Build a wall? And the Mexicans will pay for it?” She stops to get a second wind. “And how did he get his billions anyway? Selling junk bonds, not paying taxes, and using red-lining to protect his precious property. He’s a fraud and he’s hateful and he doesn’t mean America for Americans. It’s America for Trump. Tom, you shut up for a change, you shit-head idiot.”
At that very moment, when Hillary is saying maybe the country wouldn’t be in debt if he paid his taxes and Trump says “I’m just smart!” the Kleinmans get up.

Mrs. K says “I think I may have left something on the stove.”

Mr. K says “I forgot to walk the dog.” And they grab their coats and leave.

So that was that. I’m thinking my dad’s gonna punch my mom and my mom’s gonna scratch his face. This isn’t funny anymore. It’s getting really, really awful. I’m wondering is it gonna get worse? It’s scary to see your parents yell like that.

Is this the end of it? I don’t think so. But one thing I do know for sure, at the next debate I’ll be out at a soup kitchen or something and I’ll just forget about the whole thing. Something’s gonna happen in November and I hate to think what.