We spent the Presidents' Day* weekend watching our granddaughter and her team compete in the Capital Hill Volleyball Classic. It was the usual three days of excitement and ear-splitting noise, marked at one point by the high-speed volleyball I took to the side of head that bent my glasses out of shape, ensuring that the action was more of a blur than usual. We cheered our team, ate overpriced concession food, and generally had a good time doing the grandparental thing.
But I was struck by one thing that says a great deal about the America we're losing, despite the empty slogans about making it great again - volleyball jerseys.
Each player wears the team jersey with her number and last name on the back ... and those names say a lot about what the United States of America used to stand for.
Only in the United States would you see amateur athletes with names representing every conceivable national origin serving together on one team. Irish names, African names, Oriental names, English and German names, Hispanic names, Indian names, Italian names ... you name it**. The players themselves represented a racial color palette that ran from the whitest white to the blackest black, and everything in between - all united in an effort to win the game. And those of us on the sidelines cheered on those players regardless of their name, color, or origin - because we're all part of one team, and we support each other.
And that's what we're losing as Der Furor and his racist and misogynistic followers attempt to reshape the nation into something it was never intended to be.
Just a thought for a sad time, inspired by volleyball jerseys.
Have a good day. More thoughts coming.
Bilbo
* A national holiday set aside each year to honor presidents worth honoring, which eliminates Der Furor right out of the box.
** Sorry.
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