This primary season has convinced me one of the great disqualifying attributes for normal Americans is that we have no one who’ll stare adoringly at us for hours at a time.
Take the Santorum children.
They stare at Rick the way the apostles must have stared at Jesus after he told a really great joke.
The only way I could get my children to gaze at me with that combination of wonder and awe is if they spied something dangling from my nose.
It seems so unnatural.
I know many great fathers, both Republican and Democrat, and none of their teenage children look at them with even the least bit of regard, if they ever even bother to look at them at all.
If the father says something that requires their attention -- like, “Run for your life! The house is on fire!” -- the offspring’s reflex reaction is to roll their eyes, remove their earbuds, and glare at him with a mixture of contempt and impatience so deadly it’s like they’re trying to cause the beleaguered dad to detonate.
It’s not like that with the Santorum children.
It’s like they’re trying to convey to any mind readers they are thinking thoughts like, “This is a truly great man. I inner weep at my good fortune that he wasn’t engaged in mere recreational sex the night I was conceived. I’m comforted to know he’ll keep me forever safe from public education, Romneycare, its evil spawn, and all the sinful modernities exposed on his @ricksantorum Twitter account on the internet he’s never allowed me to see.”
It’s a bi-partisan phenomenon.
I remember seeing the children of a prominent Democrat casting the same adoring gazes upon their father, looks that conveyed daddy was a man of steadfast family devotion and loving wisdom. That father was ...
Now he’s got two families who stare at him, but he’d probably rather not know what either of them is thinking.
The creepiest, of course, is Callista Gingrich. She’s always stationed there like she’s Newt’s big defective candle -- all wax, no wick.
Angelina doesn’t look at Brad Pitt the way Callista looks at Newt.
He’s her Adonis, her Rocky to his Adrienne, and it’s just hilarious because the Pillsbury Doughboy has more masculine definition than Newt -- and, yeah, the Doughboy’s probably a better roll model (rim shot!).
Mitt Romney’s wife seems more naturally easygoing, and their children are adult enough that they don’t have to sit and grin like tranquilized chimps whenever their father drones on and on about things like proper tree height.
The Huntsmen daughters were very cool, as was their father. I liked Jon Huntsman and believe it says something regrettable about the current GOP that Herman Cain, Rick Perry and Michelle Bachman earned more serious consideration.
And I don’t remember seeing the Bush daughters reverentially staring at the old man like he was some thoughtful genius who’d never do anything rash that might damage America and her global reputation -- and, boy, I’ll bet in hindsight they’re relieved they didn’t.
Of course, they were too busy evading their Secret Service minders long enough to go out and get all gooned up like normal kids and, in fact, their own father did when he was their age.
Strong drink is a curse for many men and women, but I think America during the Bush/Cheney would have been better off if W. had never fully sobered up.
I know I could never have made it through without bourbon.
Some people are so hyper-partisan they reflexively hate without reason, but we have a great first family in the White House right now.
The girls are poised and Michelle Obama’s fantastic. I think it’s healthy they look at Barack when he’s speaking with the same sort of veiled contempt conveyed by Republican congressional leaders.
It’s like they don’t trust him to speak in public and are ready to pounce the second he says something stupid.
My wife and daughters are a lot like that even though I contend I’m a man of true greatness deserving of adoration.
I don’t know what I’ve done to earn such familial scorn.
I mean besides spending so much time writing this blog, of course.