A lifeboat full of survivors wallowed aimlessly without navigation equipment, an island dimly visible through the mist.

At the helm, the captain, standing firm, pointed toward the island. “See that in the mist? We’ll all be fine when we get there.”

A survivor stood up on one side of the boat and shouted at the captain. “This tub should be bigger, sturdier. It’s your fault it isn’t the boat we need in a crisis.” He shifted his weight from side to side causing the life boat to rock. Water slopped over the gunwales. “See what I mean?”

On the other side of the boat, another survivor jumped up. “It’s not his fault. Our ship was sunk by debris from China. Whatever happens, is their fault.”

The two passengers began shoving each other.  People on both sides of the boat joined in the melee.

Water began surging into the boat; before long it capsized.

Everyone died . . . died knowing that they had been right all along.

BALLOON VENDORS

Two traveling balloon vendors entered a small village and set up stands at opposite ends of the town square. One vendor sold only round, red balloons. He held them high in his hand so they sparkled in the sun. The other vendor sold only oblong, blue balloons, which he held equally high, waving them briskly.

As the town children and their parents approached the square, the two vendors edged closer to each other.

Everyone enjoyed vendors, anticipating good humor and camaraderie on this pleasant weekend afternoon. For a while, neither vendor spoke. One played the accordion, and the other the flute. The tunes were lively, a melodic feast for the townspeople. When the music stopped, the people of the town wondered who would speak first.  Alternating presentations was a well-established custom in this part of the country.  What would these two gaily dressed vendors say about the advantages of their particular style of balloon?  Oh, the people had guesses, but these vendors were experts in their wares.

To the astonishment of all, when the music stopped, both vendors began to speak at the same time.

“That fool over there got dirty shoes. Can’t trust people with—“

“Well, your shoes been made in some foreign country.  Probably,  you’re—“

“Untrustworthy people can’t be trusted. Any fool knows—“

“Tell you who can’t be trusted—foreigners. Why, just the other—“

The two vendors moved next to each other and continued to rail with a barrage of invectives. They started to swing their balloons at each other, creating a melee of words and motion.

Suddenly, both vendors lost grip of their balloons. Round, red balloons and oblong, blue balloons climbed high in the sky and disappeared from sight.

Everyone left the square. It was obvious these vendors had nothing to offer.

* * *

Think of the 1900s song “I Want A Girl” when you read the following stanza. Can’t you just hear certain supporters of The Donald singing this at a rally?

We all want a wall, a long important wall, that Donald’s never had.

It will be a wall that stands up really tall, the whole world will call rad.

Built with shiny little slats of steel, it will have a lot of curb appeal.

Oh, we all want a wall, a long important wall, that Donald’s never had.

If you’re into politics, for those of you with ears, perhaps you’ll hear this.

“You touched me.”
“Didn’t either.”
“Did too.”
An exasperated voice from the front of the car slices through the air. “You two stop that.”
“He started it.”
“Can’t prove it.”
The voice from the front of the car intones: “Donald. Nancy. You keep that up and I’m going to stop the car.”
“He’s a bully.”
“She poked me.”
The car pulls over to the side of the road and stops. Nobody is going anywhere.

Sound familiar?

I offer this song-poem for those out there who voted for Trump, and would like to get their friends back.  Use it for free. Good luck.

Lament
(with a leg up from Billy Eckstine’s Apologize)

You guys please take note, the craw is in my throat
When I made my vote, I’m sorry
From the bottom of my heart, guys I apologize

If he’s caused you pain, I know I’m to blame
Must have been insane, believe me
From the bottom of my heart, guys I apologize

I realize he’s been unfair to you
I can never make amends
Don’t say you think our time is through
After all, we were known as friends

If he’s made you blue, he gives me headaches too
Now I beg of you, forgive me
From the bottom of my heart, guys I apologize

The time is coming when, new voting starts and then
I’ll not do that again, forgive me
From the bottom of my heart, guys I apologize

This satire is intended to amuse, but the danger to our kids is not funny. Kids imitate what they hear on TV. Check out the impact on 3rd grader PT.

SCENE:  Picnic tables outside of school house.   Third-grader, PT, seated alone.  A young classmate, Gloria ,approaches .

GLORIA:  Hey, PT.   I’m glad I got you alone.  There’s something I need to tell you.

PT:   Are you flirting with me?

GLORIA:  Huh?  We’re in the third grade. How did you get that idea?

PT:   The guy on TV running for president  says all the women flirt with him, sometimes without even knowing they’re doing it.  I’m  running  for president  of our class, so you’re probably flirting.

GLORIA:  I’m not  even sure what flirting really means.

PT:   Girls  do it  by smiling. Boys do it by touching the behind of a girl.  I’ve seen the guy on TV do that .

GLORIA:   You stay away from me. I just came to tell you that Rosie says  you can’t be trusted.  I thought you should know.

PT:  Thanks, sweetie.  I’ll keep you in mind after I get elected.

SCENE:  PT turns  abruptly  and walks away,  leaving steely-eyed Gloria staring at his back.

The “elephant in the room” bears a dangerous virus.  Our children are being exposed on TV.  For young minds, the message is twisted. Eavesdrop on 3rd grader’s P.T. and Ernst  below.

SCENE:  P.T. and Ernst outside grammar school at picnic table surrounded by kids. P.T. is  talking loudly and waving his arms.

P.T.:   That new girl who arrived today shouldn’t be in our school.

ERNST:  Why, P.T.?

P.T.:  She talks funny.  Did you see her Mom with that scarf all over her face. There’s something going on there. No other Mom does that.  Something’s not right.

ERNST:  I know all about the scarf thing.  I heard our teacher say it’s because she’s a Muslim. . . I think from Islam, but I don’t know where that is.

P.T.:  Not important. She’s different.  She’s dangerous.

ERNST:  Why, P.T.?

P.T.:  The guy on TV running for President says so.  He says Muslims are full of terrorists that kill people. He knows everything.

ERNST:  You’re making me scared.

P.T.:  Perfect.  That’s what the guy on TV does.  He makes people scared, so they’ll vote  for him. Tell everybody I can keep them safe from terrorists.

ERNST:  How, P.T.?  You’re in third grade. The kids are going to ask how; what should I say then?

P.T.:    Just tell them I have lots of money.  I know how to do everything.

ERNST:  Will that be good enough to keep them from asking more questions?

P.T.:  Sure.  The guy on TV does it all the time.  Works like a charm.

SCENE:  Everyone leaves the picnic table, laughing and clapping P.T. on the back as they head towards the schoolhouse.

 

Sometimes our oft ignored dictionary contains remarkable insights.

But, could a single word have been created before the inciting events occurred?