My Maniacal Rant, Chapter Two, Part Six

I’d been reviewing all of the commentary on Trump this morning, and I had to step out onto my porch for a moment of reflection. I pondered how we have come to this point in our national discussion.

A loud pick-up truck did a partial stop at the intersection. In the back window, the owner had a slogan surrounding the American Flag. Across the top, it read, “God, Guns, Guys,” and across the bottom, “Made the USA.”

I appreciated the clarity of the moment.

My mother had called me, so I stepped outside so as to avoid the necessity of fulfilling my familial obligation to talk to my mother, knowing that picking up that phone, at this moment when Trump has finally proven he’s a sexually-deviant creature unworthy of our national respect, knowing that it’s just not a good idea to answer the damn phone and have to explain my political and religious ideologies to my mother…I just ran out of the room, and entered the sun-shiny outdoors for a quick breath…

…I was talking to God out loud on the back porch, and He showed me an American truck.

It was just not a good idea to answer the phone. My mother knows this, but she needs to hear my voice. I get it because I need to hear hers too, but I just have fallen into that awful trap where we’re screaming at each other…just too many times in the past…I can’t do it…

I can’t hear a defense of Donald Trump and the Fox News talking points right now.

After the truck passed from the intersection, I bartered with myself about listening to the voice-mail my mother left. I did this for a good half-hour, trembling like a pansy about talking to my mother.

The first thing that came to my mind the night before, after fully hearing the full audio and video of Trump’s conversation with Billy Bush, was that this will not matter to Trump voters. Then, I wondered if this would matter to the women in my family. Finally, I affirmed how it would matter to a world in which my daughters mature…

I decided to wait for my wife to come home and listen to the message from my Mom for me. I turned off the politics on the TV and watched some college football, but I realized I couldn’t focus on the game because I started irrationally creating scenarios where my mother was leaving a message, telling me she was so very sorry for actually suggesting Trump was a better choice than Hillary…or there was an emergency that occurred, and I was stubbornly not fulfilling my familial obligation of maintaining contact…or my mother was disowning me from afar.

I shouted aloud to no one in particular, “God damn it,” and I listened to the message.

She hadn’t heard from me since August, and she hopes that the reason I haven’t reached out to her is because of this election thing.

I had teared-up when I looked down at my cell-phone and saw my Mom was calling me, because I knew I couldn’t answer that bleeping phone, and she teared-up as she ended the message telling me that she loves me…

…I love you too, Mom, but I can’t answer the phone right now.

I hope you understand.

Scott C. Guffey, M.A.

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