Sometimes you have to wonder. . .

how you came from your family.

I called my stepdad yesterday to wish him a Happy Father's Day. Though I love him (really I do), we don't talk much, and there are certain things we never discuss. Politics is one of those things. This is mostly because, every time we argue about politics, we upset my poor sweet mother. I think we have even made her cry before. And you'd have to be a horrible person to want to do something that might make my mother cry.

For some reason, though, Cliff decided to brave the waters yesterday, and he insisted that there was a political point he had to tell me. I told him I didn't want to discuss politics, but he insisted. So I said, "Fine, you can tell me what you have to say, but no matter what it is, I absolutely will not comment."

He proceeded to say, "Do you know what Obama is about?" I said nothing. "I was talking to Edith (my stepaunt, who is from Mexico) and you know who she said Obama sounds just like? Chavez. Obama is a Marxist Socialist dictator." There was not a hint of irony in his voice.

It is one thing to know that there are people out there who think and say things like this. It is another thing to have the "people out there" be the same people with whom you have vacationed and done yard work and shared pizzas.

True to my word, I said nothing. (I spent many angst-filled years in high school and college before I figured out that this was the best thing to do.) When our conversation was over, I put down the phone and considered what Cliff's reaction might be to the "Obama '08" sign in our front window. Sometimes I am so different from my parents, it borders on the absurd. All I could do was laugh and shake my head. And say a little prayer to thank God that I turned out differently (Marxist Socialist dictator supporter that I am).