Hail to the Chief

HAIL TO THE CHIEF

Fifteen years ago the United States elected a president that was of my age group. Bill Clinton is seven months older than I am. He was the first president elected by my country that couldn't be mistaken for being one of my father's generation. He was emphatically a member of mine. One of the “baby boomers”. I remember standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom sometime the year he was elected, shaving. And while doing that mundane task I thought to myself, that could be the face of a president. How utterly ludicrous that seemed at the time! But I checked out the ages and, damn, yes it could very well have been. He was only a teeny-tiny bit older than me. I shuddered as the thought occurred, not specifically because it was Bill Clinton in office, but that someone who had lived only as long as I had might be considered presidential material. In that moment of revelation I realized that daddy wasn't president anymore – I was! Metaphorically speaking, of course. It was a stomach-full-of-butterflies moment, for sure.

It's now become time once again to elect a new president. I've seen my “classmates” Clinton and Bush spend their years in the White House and watched them either fulfill or squander their legacies – depending on which political agenda you subscribe to. I think, like most of their predecessors, it's been a bit of both. Some wins, some losses, some goof-up and some great accomplishments. But now there's a large possibility that my little brother might be sent to the big show. Metaphorically speaking, again. Hillary is a contemporary of mine, McCain is another daddy, although a daddy who would have had me at age 11. But Senator Obama is a whole 14 years younger than yours truly. Years! My youngest brother is 10 years younger than I. The year the estimable senator was born Yuri Gagarin was the first man in space, the Bay of Pigs invasion was attempted, the Berlin Wall was erected and I was awarded the Eagle Scout rank in Boy Scouts. I was about to start high school. When the senator was four years old, I was serving my nation in the military as Vietnam started to explode.

Am I saying this to take anything away from Barack Obama? No. He has at least a 1 in 3 chance of becoming our next president. Its only that I'm noticing another one of those pesky milestones of my life passing by.

Does this mean I'm not voting for the youngster from Illinois? Or my “sister” from New York? Or the old boy from Arizona? The way things are going this year and the way that each of these candidates are being smeared by the “other side” in the media, I'll probably have to make that decision in the voting booth. Each of these worthies have their merits and their drawbacks, as most of you have been told over and over ad nauseum for the past year or so. Only two of them will be allowed to race the final heat. The old boy is definitely in. Its either the sister or the youngster who will fall by the wayside, allowing the other to vie for the prize. It has been and will continue to be... interesting.

Do I doubt the patriotism of any of the contestants? Not for a minute. I'm sure each of them will serve their country to the best of their ability. Might their patriotism be defined slightly differently than mine? You can be guaranteed of that. My “chocolate mint” patriotism will be a little different that their “tutti-fruit” or “fudge ripple” or “pecan walnut” patriotism. Is it any less heartfelt? No, I don't think so. Not in the least. Could any of them attain the stature of Abraham Lincoln or George Washington or even John Kennedy or Ronald Reagan? Only time will tell. Perhaps great cities or powerful hydroelectric dams or even an awesome battleship might be named after one of them. Or a starship!

All I know is that the history books of tomorrow are being written right now and one of the contestants in the current presidential race will have their own paragraph. Or, if lucky, perhaps their own chapter. Saint or scoundrel, their story will be told.

A decade and a half ago I stared at the face in the mirror as I shaved and quietly whistled the tune “Hail to the Chief” to commemorate a “classmate” becoming president. Now I suppose I better call my baby brother up on the phone and whistle the same tune. He won't understand, but that's OK.

I will.