I am glad he is not my son


By: Carolyn Hileman

I have heard people call him Hitler; I have heard them call him Benedict Arnold and names I care not even to repeat. I remember a day when we all just wanted to see him and know he was OK because if he was not the terrorists would have made an even more devastating blow. We waited breathlessly to hear where he had landed next and cursed the news people for giving us the news we so desperately wanted to know because we knew if we were hearing it they could as well.

We have come along way haven’t we? We no longer care what we call him, if he does not do our bidding he is just someone to blame. Maybe it is because we put way too much on this man and made him into some type of savior, when all he was, was simple mortal flesh. We all assumed what ever we wanted he would want it as well, and if he didn’t well he was just what the democrats had called him, because he was of no use to us anymore.

What a shame to throw away the human spirit simply because they didn’t quite fit your mold as perfect. To say he shows no loyalty when it is us who left him simply because he didn’t do exactly as we said. We gave him so many dimensions and so many miracles to attribute to his name that when we saw that he was just a man we were terribly disappointed. We cannot really look back and say that this man has changed, simply because he has not, so that leaves us to ponder if we ever really listened to him or did we just decide in our own mind who he was to be?

Did we really ever have any idea that the person in that Oval Office was only a man, a man who makes mistakes, a man who loves and is loved? A simple human being who breaths in and breaths out just as you and I, a father, a brother, a husband and a son, a soul searching for the answers to life just like you and I. A young man with his baseball glove waiting for his father to have time to play catch with him, a young man heading off to college somehow one day he became the scourge of the American people. Even those he thought would stand by him turned their back, not because he had done anything really bad but simply because they did not agree with him.

Now the words that once burned us to the core when someone would say them, we are the ones saying it, people passing messages along, saying things they cannot prove but willfully spread anyway. Passing along things that are so ludicrous you would honestly believe that no one with one ounce sense would believe are taken as credible and passed along with impunity. We have taken one simple man and turned him into Hitler in the minds of not only his original detractors but among those who swore loyalty to this man, we call him a traitor, Hitler, El Presidenta, words that not to long ago would have had us up in arms are now the norm and no one feels the slightest bit guilty for their behavior.

This man is some mother’s son, she held him at her breast and stroked his fine hair and dreamed about what he would grow up to be one day. She watched him walk, she taught him to talk, worried about him when he didn’t come home at night. She watched her little boy grow into a man and as he went out into the world she prayed that he would be safe and that if nothing else the people that he met would give him a fair shake. All I can say is I am eternally grateful he is not my son because I would not be able to sit and watch as the very people who built him up beat him down. I would not be able to stand the type of torture he has been put through for only doing his job, to hear the people call him names and burn pictures of him I am glad he is not my son.

The Voice

About The Author Carolyn Hileman:
The Voice http://www.thevoice.name/
Website:http://thevoiceblog.thevoice.name/

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