" Our distress comes from no failure of substance. Compared with the perils which our fore fathers conquered because they believed and were not afraid, we have still much to be thankful for...." FDR inagural address. March 1, 1933.

I've been thinking alot about FDR lately and I must not be alone as references to his accomplishments are in the minds of more than a few journalists. I found a gem of an article by Richard Parker, in The Nation titled: Why The New Deal Matters. When my daughter was in eighth grade she studied American History and I was shocked at the brevity with which her text book covered The New Deal as compared to how Reagan was analyzed. I was struck with the fact that Reagan was given almost equal coverage to FDR and the New Deal. We had dinner with my mother that night and I asked her to tell my daughter about the depression and FDR. My mother was born during the depression to a young mother who worked to support her, leaving her hometown and my mother to follow the company as it moved from Chicago to Houston. My mother was raised by her grandparents and Aunt in a small town in Illinois, and remembers taking the train to Houston by herself as a small child taken care of by the staff on the trains.

She told my daughter what it was like to grow up in the depression and the war. I joked about the difference between my mother and my grandmother. My grandmother saved every piece of used tin foil, rinsing it and re-using it and never could get used to butter again as she had used oleo for so long that she considered butter an extravagance. My mother can't stand the taste of margarine and indulges on occasion those things that were so scarce in her childhood. Both women were pragmatic and strong beyond imagination. My grandmother had an ironic wit and a healthy scepticism born of hard work and suffering.  She was a stoic by nature, and I never saw her angry or afraid. My mother is flamboyant, entertaining and a bit of a romantic. My mother wears her heart on her sleeve.

As she told my daughter about what FDR meant to her family and her country, I was so grateful that my daughter could have this memory of getting a personal story to add insight to paragraphs in a history book. I've been thinking about the fate of FDR's party, because the democratic paty as we know it was largely built by FDR. This is also the party of tough fighters like Tip O'Niell, Patrick Moynihan, Truman, JFK, RFK, MLK, and LBJ. There were some tough women too like Barbara Jordan, Anne Richards, Gealdine Ferraro. I won't name them all but these are the names I grew up with. The new kids, those Clintons were an astonishing wave that rippled through the party and offered change and optimism. I thought the smartest thing Bill Clinton did was ask Al Gore to be his running mate and for a good while they were a remarkable team and alot was accomplished. I watched as the party exhausted by factional fighting unified and stunned the GOP.

One of the most unexpected results of stumbling though middle age is what I like to call adventures in hypocrisy. Hypocrisy as defined by Webster's ( a beaten up copy from college that is always close at hand )... Hypocrisy- The professing of publicly approved qualities,beliefs, or feelings that one does not really possess. I'm new to the internet community and often have to rely on my daughter to help me with this marvelous and baffling tool. The idea of engaging in meaningful and often funny dialogue about politics and other things has been liberating. One of the greatest gifts of this volatile election cycle for me has been confronting and re-evaluating thoughts and beliefs that I certainly thought I had settled. Sometimes being slapped in the face by another adolescent piece of myself at my age, makes me want jump under the bed in embarassment. I take solace in constantly remembering two things. These are Socrates and the character of Archie Bunker. I happen to believe that if Socrates had been alive in the 1970's, All in the Family would have been his favorite show. The most famous artifact we have to remember the great philosopher is the principal he willingly died for. " The unexamined life is not worth living "

 This was the fundamental principal by which he lived and taught. Socrates was the epitome of a classic liberal, always uncertain and sceptical of those who were. He would have delighted in watching Bunker stumble through a constant assault on the fallacies of his ignorance and bigotry. Bunker is forced to confront his defense of opinions and beliefs that inhibit the human spirit. The genius of the show was how we all get to identify with watching a certain man realize that nothing is as he thought it was, and that people are much more complicated than the comfortable stereotypes that are the foundation of bigotry. Bunker needs these people as we all do to continue to grow in mind and spirit. The examined life cannot be examined alone, and often I am humbled in front of witnesses, particularly my daughter. I have often had to confront my " Inner Bunker ", that toddler who lives inside me that is often bewildered and embarrassed by having to grow up and learn. Confronting my "Inner Bunker", especially when I thought it was gone, or wished it was quiet has been often searing and funny. Sometimes the things that come out of my mouth are truly astonishing in their ignorance, and the greatest road to humility and enlightenment is not contemplating my navel and pondering the universe. The quickest road to enlightenment is to have an astute companion, or witness if you like, especially effective if I'm working hard to seem impressive and all knowing. This is what has prompted me to write these diaries, as I take comfort in Socrates' simple and wonderfully effective design; that of the dialogue.

  Obama's political campaign has challenged me once again to examine the comfy chair of liberalism that had once again had begun to suffocate me with the comfortable and certain atrophy of self satisfaction. Once again I'm in the thick soup of my own ignorance and or liberal smugness, as I was certain I had solved that tricky issue or answred another difficult question. Hypocrisy is really one of the easiest sins to overcome. The antidote is simple, and it is honest reflection. Hurts like hell sometimes, but the beauty of mid life reflection is surrendering to the inevitiblity of it. The distance that mid life allows when examining life and how I do my life is a remarkable tool. Finally I understand so much better the elders of my youth and have more compassion for the young coming after. Obama has dragged me into the issues of race and prejudice and although I don't like being kicked out of my comfy chair; I've decided that it's good for me even if like medicine it does'nt taste good. My daughter and I have been talking alot about prejudice as she completes her journey through high school. She challenges my "Inner Bunker" because she often is quicker to recognize it than I am. She has a brilliant method that she has honed since a toddler. She simply does that Socratic thing and asks "Why? and How come ", and it is my answres that she challenges, not because she is disagreeable, but because she is learning and has been encouraged by her liberal mom to do the Socratic thing.

My first conscious recollection of prejudice had to do with my parents favoring my twin's choice of the fish tank as our collective birthday present. I'm part of a fraternal pair of twins, and as the female half, I felt gipped. This was in the summer of 1968. My brother always got the cool toys, trucks, tools, and always new and sensible clothes. I, the youngest of four daughters, got mostly well worn hand me downs, that were heavy on dresses and shorts sets that frankly were not designed for girls who climbed trees and preferred to play war with the boys at constuction sites. I knew my request was doomed ( I had wanted rock em sock em robots and a years supply of space food amongst other things ) when my father stated that this choice would be good for the family and educational.

We were'nt rich, far from it and birthdays for a catholic family of six children was a fairly modest affair. The best I could hope for was my grandmother's cash present in which the amount rose $1.00 a year to reflect my age. $8.00 can buy enough candy to rot your mouth and the spending of the birthday cash was sacred in our family, no-one and I mean not even the Pope could dictate how we spent our annual "Gommie Money".

The fish tank arrived and my dad put it together. My brother and I went to the pet store to pick out fish, which I remember were mostly yellow. My brother who I have to mention was clinically hyper-active and whose favorite activity was taking anything apart he could get his hands on (to see how it worked)  was on Ritalin; the dosage of which depended on how tired or distracted my mother was. Taken in the uncertain liquid form of the day, sometimes he became more of a blur then ever and sometimes he took a nap for about 3 hours. I watched as my brother named all of the fish and solemnly promised each of them that he would take good care of them. I was silently praying that Jesus would not recognize my relunctant role in what I feared was the certain mass murder of innocent fish and wondered if this qualified as a mortal or venial sin. Would I still get to keep communion privelages and the weird but cool Catholic stuff I'd gotten at this recent milestone.

My twin brother, truly one of the kindest souls would never intentionally harm the fish, but they were as doomed as any other toy laying in scattered pieces throughout our shared toy legacy. The fish were doomed. My brother in the sexism of the day was granted and assumed the paternal responsibility for the welfare of the fish. I was assigned the cleaning of the tank. My twin was assigned the feeding of the fish. Typical gender assignment and it was no use to complain. Each of us made a cocerted effort to follow the instructions of our dad and for a while the tank was clean and the fish looked happy, at least as happy as fish could be to my eight year old mind.

A few months later the occasion came when the folks decided it was time to go visit the grandparents who lived in another city. Two station wagons, each loaded with coolers, food, pillows, toys, kids and the dog caravaned  home to Houston from the alien strangeness of this new city we had moved to called Dallas. Houston as any native knows is much better for tree climbing and critter hunting, especially frogs and lizards. Houston was also where a tom-boy with a pixie hair cut under the age of ten could run around in her brothers jeans without a shirt on and no-one batted an eye. I did'nt have penis envy so much, I just envied the freedom boys had. I liked everything about being a girl except the dolls, dresses, and chores. Mowing the lawn seemed alot more cool then sweeping up the clippings. I mean the mower was cool, brooms are not. Boys sports were cool, hopscotch was'nt. Anyone who thinks softball is as cool as baseball, just does'nt get it.  As we pulled into the driveway, tired and cranky after the long trip home, my twin ran into the house to check on the fish.

I've been watching the steady progress of religious incursion into American politics for the better part of my life. Americans asked JFK to explain what if any influence the Vatican might have on formation and implementation of American Policies both here and abroad. John Kerry was questioned about the opposition of his politics vs. his Catholic church's stance on Roe v Wade. Once agan he was asked to draw a distinction between the faith he practices and the politics he practices. Various catholic bishops refused to offer him the sacrament because he refused to allow the tenents of his faith to dominate the practice of his politics. In other words he refused to be a theocrat. This is why we have a constitution that guarantees a seperation of church and state. The steady incursion of the far right evangelicals into american politics has profoundly affected the direction of this country, as we are currently engaged in a foreign war that President Bush initially descibed as a Crusade. What is particularly disturbing in this election cycle is the incursion of religious politics now surging forth from the unexpected quarter of the far left.