This child does not know me . . .

So Sam came by again today.

Unusual because he came by last week.

He went through his mail, tore it up, bitched about my failure to have completed his tax return & told me I had a picture of a socialist on my refrigerator.

Referring to a picture of our president.

And I thought, with infinite sadness, this child does not know me.

Because if our president was a socialist, it would not bother me.

Because I am not opposed, in its most basic forms, to the tenants of socialism.

I do not believe that Barack Obama is a socialist.

More important than Obama & socialism is the fact that I have raised a young man who is probably not a Democrat.  

Weird feeling.

I am sure Jack Ettinger felt the same weird feeling when I told him I would vote Democrat in my first Presidential election.

And when he threw a plate of spaghetti with Jean’s really great meat sauce at me.

I, of course, did not throw anything at Sam.  I did not confront him.

With infinite sadness, I thought:  this child does not know me.

He does not know that we can discuss any difference of opinion, any philosophy, any belief & emerge intact and still loving one another.

And I will not throw a plate of pasta.

That he does not know this is our loss.

I love him.