I was concerned one of my recent blog posts was going to upset my father and it turns out I was right, though not for the reason I thought I'd be. He did not express upset in my confession about my psychological scars from "The Fight". And, of course I recognize that his not expressing upset doesn't mean he didn't experience upset, he just didn't share that upset with me if it did, indeed, upset him. What he did take issue was my characterization of his neighbors as being Right Wing nut jobs who hate gays and women.
And for this, I am truly sorry.
In truth, I don't know my parents' neighbors, so how could I possibly know their stance on gays and women? To be fair, my father only told me about one particular neighbor who is a Right Wing nut job and I extrapolated and, perhaps, exaggerated a bit for dramatic effect.
Some years ago, my father gave me a book called Inventing The Truth: The Art and Craft of Memoir. In it there is some talk about using personal history as narrative and of a device often used by memoirists in which some facts or memories are embellished or heightened to serve whatever story they might be telling.
I confess I used this device when I pluralized "neighbor" to "neighbors" and added the stuff about gays and women.
I would like to now amend my unfair, uninformed characterization of my parents' neighbors. Now that I have spent a little more time up here I think I have a slightly better idea of the politics of the general population. So here is my edited version of the offending statement:
My parents are selling this place. It's too far from the city, and some of the neighbors have lawn signs calling to repeal The Safe Act which is a law put into effect this year that calls for tighter restrictions on gun and bullet sales, and there's a big lawn sign right at the beginning of town which states "Impeach the liar Obama. Trump 2016!", and there was this guy at a nearby restaurant telling everyone at his table (and all the others) that "Trump really has what it takes to turn this country around" and that he ran circles around the other GOP candidates in the debate and they couldn't respond to his points because they (his points) were spot on and "how do you debate the truth?", and there was the pickup truck I drove behind today on the way to Albany with this decal on its back window:
And, of course there are exceptions. There always are. Like Jews in Utah. Or Black people in Maine. Or... my parents. And while this is an incredibly beautiful part of the country and there are breathtaking views around every turn, and flocks of wild turkeys running around everywhere, and deer in the backyard, it makes sense that my parents would want to live in place where the majority of the people around them believe in the same principals they do. I get that. I really do.
But, when the apocalypse does come, having a natural water source on your property is going to matter a whole lot more than having like-minded neighbors. And, having repealed The Safe Act, my parents' neighbors will be coming for the water, automatic assault riffles ablazin'!
Here's where I spout my brilliance.