Elections are a narrative, Jack

Elections are about narrative; as such, money and partisan reporting are vital to shape a story line that moves a majority of voters.

June 14, 2012, 9:00 pm  The Clown and the Cop  By TIMOTHY EGAN  New York Times

Father’s Day, 2012. 

 

Twenty-nine years without my father Jack.   

And as I follow my Sunday morning routine, listening to the mainstream Sunday morning programs & reading the New York Times, I wonder.

What would Jack think?

About the electoral rhetoric, about a man of color in the White House, about Republicans ruling Texas, about the onslaught on a woman’s right to control her body & her reproductive options.  About how tall my sons are.  About how beautiful are my nieces.  About how my nephew wants to be a Navy Seal.  About how trapped my mother is in her wheel chair.

What would Jack think?

I wonder what Jack would say if I began a conversation with:  

Elections are about who tells the better, more welcome, story.  Elections are about narrative.

Would he throw a plate across the room as he did when I told him I was going to vote for George McGovern in 1972?

Or would he listen.  I know he is listening now.

Because Timothy Egan’s blog in the New York Times this morning is correct:  elections are about narrative.

Elections are all about who is the better writer.  Or hires the better writer.

Elections are all about how well each writer identifies, perceives and understands the target audience.  

Elections are about language.  And images & manipulation.

My life-long love affair with words & text & textuality  aside,  I am not certain that elections should be decided on the basis of the best story teller.

Unless, of course, the story tellers are brave & honest & fearless.

I  wonder what Jack would say . . .

Remembering Jack . . .

As Father’s Day approaches, I think of my father Jack.

And recently, someone who never knew him, asked me:  What was he like?  Was he smart?  What color were his eyes?  Did he like strawberries?

Yes, he was smart.  Really, really smart.  Phi Beta Kappa at A&M.   His eyes were hazel.  

He liked strawberries with whipped cream.  Real whipped cream.  He put too much sugar in his tea – no matter how I tried to tell him that it was impossible for that amount of sugar to dissolve in that volume of tea.  He liked hot chocolate from scratch.  He also liked buttermilk & cornbread, which I still find gross.

Several years ago, I ran into an Aggie & told my favorite story about A&M & my sister the Aggie & mentioned that my father was an Aggie. 

 And then the Aggie asked me my father’s name & when I said Jack Ettinger, he smiled.

And he told me about the engineering professors he studied with who talked about my father.

Yes, sweetheart, he was very, very smart.

As were both his parents.  Your great-grandfather John used to keep peppermint Life Savers in his front pocket for us.  He could fix anything.  He took me to the old Love Field Airport in Dallas to watch the planes.  It was there I learned that flying & reaching beyond were indeed possible.  He died too young, of ALS.

Your great-grandmother Helen became a teacher in spite of being hearing impaired.  She gave me my first copy of Jane Eyre when I was seven.  She also gave me “Sixth Reader of The Boys’ & Girls’ Readers.”  Published 1919.  The introduction to the teacher reads:  The object in these Readers is to direct silent reading, to motivate oral reading, to develop the reading habit, and to broaden the child’s outlook on life.  And broaden my outlook she did.

Over the years, I have blogged about your grandfather Jack.  About how he shared his politics & his passions with me.  And got irritated when the monster he helped create voiced a different opinion.

This evening, this blog.  I want to answer a question.

What was he like?

Jack was tall & thin, always.  Not as tall as your cousins Nick & Sam – they get that from your Grandmother Jean’s side.  The Sims brothers were very tall, like their father.

Jack, son of Helen & John, was amazing.

He was the man who married a beautiful & brilliant & loving woman who would make sure we all had books & music & church & learned to swim. 

He was the man who taught me too many shortcuts in Math, which caused me a great deal of grief in high school Algebra.  I still have a problem showing my work. ;-)

He was the man who guaranteed me a safe place to fall.  

He was the man who set the standard for every conversation I would ever had.

What was he like?

He was my daddy.