I'm Just Like You
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My friends—and before this campaign is over, I hope to call all of you friends—as we both know, the media elite do not understand this election. They just don't get it. They think it's about the economy. Or the war. Or icecaps.
Ladies and gentlemen, let me assure you that the Urban Man wasn't always Urban. I wasn't always an effete, patronizing sophisticate. That's why my campaign has prepared this little video. Here you can see that although I wasn't raised in a small town, I was raised in a very small suburb: a suburb just like your suburb. In fact, it was your suburb, just off exit 34.
Here I am as a freckled lad riding a BMX down your street. It was a secondhand BMX with a rusty chain, but like you, I held my head high. There's my mom waving at the camera. She was a struggling single mom. Okay, she wasn't single, but she pulled through anyway. She made do, because that's what family means.
Now let's talk about your son Johnny. Maybe he can't read. Maybe he has a terrible disease. Maybe he can't get along with his friend Pete. Let me assure you that I too have a son Johnny who has a friend Pete, and neither of them can read.
My Johnny has red hair, just like your Johnny. Or maybe he's blond. Okay, your boy's blond and mine's a redhead. But do I go to the government and ask for a handout? No, because families pull together.
Still, I pledge that I will feel for every Johnny. I will feel his pain. I will feel your pain. I know nothing will be more important to you than to know I'm sitting in my office feeling your pain. Contrast that with my opponent who never met Johnny. Who's too out of touch to know Johnny. Go ahead, ask him.
Johnny's story is an American story. Don't let anybody tell you different, and don't let anybody say you're easy to manipulate. Because you know that ultimately, it's not about what I can do for you, but how well I can talk about you. It's not about kitchen table issues, it's about the kitchen table. It's about the chat we would have if I showed up at your house at eight this evening, right when your wife was wiping down the kitchen table, and I had the Secret Service surround your house, and I positioned a helicopter overhead, just for a little air cover. It's about how you and I could really relax while I ate the leftover meatloaf. How I'd eat it even though you ran out of ketchup, because Americans make do. Because some Americans haven't forgotten how to make meatloaf. Because along with offshore drilling, that's what this election is about: It's about how you and I could really understand one another as we sat across that kitchen table…even if we had to shout over the noise of the chopper.
Ladies and gentlemen…friends. Don't let anyone fool you. This election is not about billions spent on other people's wars. Not about the burden of health insurance companies on the economy. Not about the burden of oil companies on foreign policy. Not about inflation, the Bill of Rights, the dropping dollar, the degrading environment or government abandoning its responsibilities. It's not even about the $9.6 trillion deficit. In fact, it's not about “policy" at all—it's about determination. It's about your determination to hear my story. It's about your joy in seeing that freckled American boy tooling his BMX along glad American streets. It's about his tough but cheery American smile.
Trust me, it's a smile just like yours.
Copyright © 2008 Marc Porter Zasada. All Rights Reserved.
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