[This is the podcast version of an already posted story]
It’s too late for me. I followed the feminist lie through most of my life, only to wake up much too late to have lived it a better way. You see, it takes a while to realize that it really is about the warm body next to you. It is about the laughing children and grandchildren. It is about the stories, the recipes, the memories, the picnics, the vacations.
No, life is never going to be perfect. There will be problems with every family, unforgettable tragedies, broken hearts, and dreams deferred. And there are sometimes mothers who become addicted to drugs. Not everyone grows up easy. Some of us barely make it out alive.
As I watched The Machine surround JD Vance like a pack of hyenas going in for the kill, I was disgusted on so many levels. I am sure if the Right had that kind of power, they’d probably abuse it, too. People are people, and power corrupts. But still, the level of depravity was shocking, even for them.
The absence of empathy in a culture defined by trauma is what defines the new Left. Their trauma. Someone else’s trauma. Trauma from our past. Every kid growing up on the Left will be fed one psych med or another.
When Donald Trump was shot, there was just a moment where there was a pause. Wait, they all seemed to think, are we supposed to feel something?
Yes, you are supposed to feel something. It’s called humanity. Empathy. I have been cursed with too much empathy. I get a double dose from each of my parents. My dad loved his cat Freddy so much he couldn’t bear to get him “fixed,” so he let him out to produce untold amounts of wild kittens. One day, Freddy was hit by a car, and my dad never really recovered. He loved that cat.
My mom had so much empathy that for a while there, she couldn’t bear to see her chickens sitting on unfertilized eggs, so she went to the pet store and bought fertilized eggs so they could hatch. But she kept producing too many roosters and didn’t know what to do with them, so she moved the roosters to another property she owned. I joked with her that it was like a male prison. Please, send over some hens.
And me, well, I can barely clip the leaves off of a basil plant without feeling bad about it. I save spiders. One video of an abused dog will ruin my entire year. It’s a curse—too much empathy.
But that’s what I feel when I think about JD Vance, what he’s gone through in life, and how he’s come out of it such a fine young man with a beautiful family and a promising future.
It reminds me of that wonderful scene in The Shawshank Redemption, written by Stephen King before he became Trump deranged, and back when Hollywood could still make great movies.
JD Vance said something, so what? You can’t grow up with a foul-mouthed Mamaw and not fire off a zinger now and again. I grew up with that kind of mother, a mouth so foul she’d make a sailor blush. I often remember her screaming at cars that drove by, “You mother f*cking c*cksucker!”
That’s probably why I can’t shut up. And probably why JD can’t either. But that’s not why he’s my hero. That’s a different story entirely. It has to do with growing up like a weed. You don’t really belong any place. You grow up strong anyway because something in your DNA makes you a survivor. No hothouse flower was he, nor carefully tended garden plant, but a fast-growing, persistent, ever-present weed.
I grew up not that differently than he did—the kind of family where the men leave, and the women go a little crazy. At least there were no drug addicts, but I know what it is to long for normalcy so bad it aches. I know what it is to visit “normal” families and feel envious that there were two parents, that they sat down and ate dinner, and there was lunch money.
I know what it is to keep going, no matter what ghosts chase you. I know what it is to be underestimated by everyone, but never let anyone stop you. I never fought in the Iraq war like he did. I couldn’t last one day of training to be a Marine. And I’m pretty sure I couldn’t become a Senator like he did, much less a candidate for the Vice Presidency. But I know what it is to try at life anyway.
JD Vance is my hero because everything he’s done so far in life has not killed his faith in himself, his family, his mother, and his country. I would say in his God, but I don’t know if he is religious, and I would feel like a phony if I said it that way. I’m not quite there yet. I guess I just mean this life can take you down. If you can somehow survive it, it’s a miracle.
Donald Trump said JD Vance cares about family to explain away why he is adamant about supporting mothers with kids. You’d have to grow up the way he did and the way I did to understand why someone would be so protective of the family unit. He did not have it growing up, but it was something he longed for. I know that because I felt the same way.
If the worst thing he ever did was generalize about “Childless cat ladies,” that’s not that big of an offense. The second part of it was specifically about politicians who have less of a stake in the future. Yes, it will probably alienate some voters, but honestly, is that really how you go about voting? Something someone said turns you off so you’ll vote for the totalitarians?
Maybe Trump could have picked someone who would pull in a swing state, as the Democrats do. He could have picked “a woman.” But I’m glad he picked a survivor, a tough Marine who can take whatever they have to throw at him. We know that because he’s already survived the worst of it. We hope.
I don’t know what will happen in this crazy election. It’s the totalitarians vs. the populists. But anyone who blames JD Vance for Trump’s loss, should he lose, is a fool. Trump and Vance aren’t running against other candidates. They’re running against an entire system. Don’t kid yourselves. They will attack and destroy anyone who threatens their power.
So here’s to you, JD. Thanks for fighting the good fight.
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