Another day in Paradise
I
am back for the week with my Uncle Albert. Mid-afternoon. I am dozing.
Uncle Albert by m ball |
“What
were we talking about?” he turns toward me as far as his old neck will allow;
his eyes pop open.
“You
were talking.” I say.
“Were
you taking notes?”
“Yes,”
I lie. If he presses, I think, I can cover the lie by saying I was taking mental
notes.
“Let me
see them.” He reaches out a hand.
“Mental
notes,” I say.
He
waves them away.
“We were talking about essentialism,” I say. “You
were arguing against it.” One can also cover a lie – always – with a greater
lie.
“I see,”
he turns back. “I must have fallen asleep. And no wonder: it’s not a matter I
have any interest in.” He stares out at the lake.
“What
was I saying?” he asks after a short pause. “What do your notes say?”
“You
were saying,” I lie on, “according to my notes, that essentialists are people
that believe there have always been people like them, but . . . .”
“Yes. I
could have said that, even if I’m pretty sure I didn’t. My essentialist
colleagues, when I was teaching, would argue something like: ‘There have always
been people like me’ – meaning, they would lift their shoulders in a whiney
shrug, misunderstood as I am misunderstood, put upon as I am put upon, bashed –
‘There have always been people like me - there always will be - but from my vantage point I know more about their enemies and detractors than they did and more than their enemies or detractors did themselves. And the people like them today’ – meaning the enemies, the
detractors – ‘need to wise up; they need to realize that their days are numbered.’”
“Yes,”
I said. “That’s what my notes say.”
“Good,” says Uncle Albert.
“Bullshit!” Uncle Albert says.
And he turns up the sound on CNN’s coverage of the
Republican National Convention and recloses his eyes.
07.20.16
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