Sunday, September 24, 2017

Thursday, November 5, 2020

As they've done for more than three years, the players kneel.   Fists raised, heads bowed, they kneel.

It's eerily silent as the anticipation builds. No insults raining down, nor yells of support for the kneeling players. No one in the crowd of 80,000 dares take a breath, let alone utter a word. All eyes are glued to the field, where the players kneel.

And then she emerges through the tunnel and onto the field.  The president-elect strides towards the kneeling players. She walks right up to a hulking lineman, and looks him in the eye. The crowd, which had erupted into a frenzy when she appeared, is silent once again.

And then she kneels.

There's not a dry-eye in the house or an unkneeled knee. Everyone - the fans, the coaches, the referees - #takestheknee.

As the first familiar notes of the Star Spangled Banner start playing, she looks from kneeling man to kneeling man and fixes her strong, caring, dignified gaze on each one. And then she rises.

And one by one, the players rise. Hands on hearts. Eyes proud. They rise.

And the refs rise. And the coaches rise. And the crowd rises. And even Sam Grandy, the 88-year old peanut vendor who, if truth be told, had been ambivalent about kneeling in the first place because he feared this very moment, having to stand from a kneeling position, rises. Everyone rises.

The darkness has lifted. We are with her. And she is with us.

America rises.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

The Resistance

Chapter 1

I don’t know what made me do it.  Maybe I was feeling reckless. Maybe I picked up a note of defiance in her voice as she ordered her latte. Or maybe it’s just that as long as humans can remember Freedom, we’ll never lose our capacity to Love.

I placed my order and as I followed her from the barista towards the cashier, I saw my chance. Reaching for my wallet, I leaned in and whispered, “#Drumpf.”

She didn’t acknowledge me or even flinch. Had I misjudged? I started to panic, and my eyes instinctively glanced towards the door, half-expecting to see the Trump Troopers. But all was quiet. She Foursquared for her drink and headed for the door.  By the time I had paid and generously tipped 12%, she was gone.

I walked out into the bright sunlight and pulled out my phone. A little crestfallen but also buoyed by the cherry notes of my espresso, I pulled out my phone, and, after a quick check of my surroundings, opened Twitter. I was just about to type in “#Drumpf” when a voice called out from the shadows, “Do you whisper Keith Olbermann’s secret hashtag of the day in every stranger’s ear or should I be flattered?”

It was her. And she was vaping.