Deconstructing Obama — Part One

A Very Sad Puppy

I moved a lot of times when I was a kid.  I moved from St. Paul, MN, to Sioux Falls, SD (and if you think that isn’t a real mind-​​stopper when you learn the alpha­bet and then they tell you that the first part of the town you live in is pro­nounced Soo but spelled Sioux — sye ox — then you prob­a­bly lived in a town named Madi­son or New York.

The worst part of it was the chang­ing and remak­ing friends.  I was an only child.  That had a pow­er­ful mean­ing in the 1950’s.  About the same as blind, deaf, dumb, and marked for death.

Oh, my.  Is he an ONLY child?

The early 60’s weren’t that much dif­fer­ent than the 50’s.  Until the Cuban Mis­sile Cri­sis.  That was the divid­ing line.  Still, it’s no fun when you move a lot and you don’t have broth­ers and /​ or sis­ters to be part of your kings-​​x home base.

Barack was like that.  Except where I had mom and dad Barack had…

• dad, a Com­mu­nist Niger­ian black per­son who would be mur­dered in a “car wreck”
• mom, who was screwed up from her first con­scious moment because her par­ents wanted a boy and so they named her Stan­ley. Stan­ley. A nerd’s name if you’re a guy.  If you’re a girl … oof!  So she sought approval by get­ting the hots for darker guys., like Barack’s father and Barack’s step father, and all the while she was always try­ing to fix the Stan­ley thing by doing good works all over the world which meant, of course, she couldn’t be both­ered by Barack who was left in the care of his grand­mother.  The same grand­mother who had named his mother Stan­ley.  [That should work out just fine] Then mom comes back and grabs Barack, who may or may not have made some friends by then, and takes him off to Indone­sia, where he knows nobody, doesn’t speak the lan­guage, and is sup­posed to become a Mus­lim, what ever that is.  And GETS TO MEET HIS NEW DAD.  He is now Soe­toro.  Barry Soe­toro. And mom is — say… where’s mom?  And dad is… OK, where’s step dad?  And mom?  Did any­body come up with mom, yet?  And, Oh!  Hi, Grandma.
• and back to Hawaii, where Grandma is a bank vice pres­i­dent and life is easy.  Except run­ning around with mom and dad and step-​​dad Soe­toro, going to Indone­sia to school, and learn­ing that every­body there thinks Amer­ica ought to be destroyed.  And learn­ing all about the color thing and colo­nial­ism, etc., so grandma, once a home base of safety, is now a typ­i­cal white person.

So since mom is unavail­able, both dads are too, his grandma is a typ­i­cal white per­son, he attempts to find some racial creds.  At first he does this, as recounted in Dreams, by think­ing that rich white peo­ple are tak­ing their dogs miles out of their way into neigh­bor­hoods they really don’t want to be in just so their dogs can poop on Barack Obama’s front yard.

He will later apply this same tax­on­omy to any­body who doesn’t agree with him.  But instead of call­ing it dog shit, he will call it dis­trac­tions.

This post is con­tin­ued in Part Two: The Chicago Way.

As an adden­dum I wish to thank Fausta’s Blog.

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Tags: Barack Obama, childhood