By Robert David
Even as a kid, you did not get a “do-over” in my neighborhood without a fight. Accidentally tap the white pool ball with the cue stick, or shank a punt on the grassless vacant lot — it counted. Your bad, dude. Not my problem. If you yelled like a stuck pig, flailed and kicked at the older kid, survived a grinding headlock, and — most importantly — were a necessary body to keep the teams even … well, maybe. But second chances came at a near-death cost back on ol’ Fifth Avenue Southeast.
And aren’t those usually the rules in life (unless you adopt the increasingly disposable concerns of religion or compassion)? Isn’t that how it is? Don’t screw it up. No second chances.
Call your future mother-in-law a crooked-nose witch, and you can kiss your only shot at marrying her daughter goodbye. Sorry pal, that’s a one-and-done. Get lost.
So I’m perplexed by those who keep saying, “Give Trump a chance.” Chance. Chance. Chance. Hell, he’s had two years of them. And HE doesn’t give anybody a chance.
Immigrants. Facts. Sweden. They all are toast (rostat bröd in Swedish) before they even get to the toaster. No chance. No do-over. (And don’t even mention do-gooders.) Go home, kid. We already have enough for 5-on-5. You’re number 11.
So when the Shrinking Sole jabs his foot out and trips nationless and vulnerable children before they even pass the Go border, why again do we need to soften up, be patient and quietly sit on our nervous palms? Are we stalling until Grandpa Meatloaf comes to his senses? Are we waiting for White Golf Pants to get off the course and get up to speed with what we all know:
- that immigrant vetting is already extremely extensive;
- that Muslims are as decent a people as any Scandinavian bachelor farmer;
- that more Mexicans are going back South than risk ridicule and jail in the blanched North;
- and that international trade is far more complex and intertwined and intricate than a junior high nut-kicking match?
Is this an official National Time of Waiting so the Most Glorious ADHD can finally complete American History and Business 101 for his GED? Is that what giving a chance to Mr. Social Darwinist (Herr Samhällelig Darwinist) is all about?
And why do you want us to agree to one do-over after another? Red Edward Littlehands doesn’t give anybody a cutter’s chance to restart. So why should he get one … or as with his continuously failing cabinet appointments, a blooming hedgeful of them?
Are Qualm Beach’s re-boots going to be like the side fries at Red Robin … unlimited? I thought presidents had to get the sand out of their training pants before hitting the Pennsylvania starting line.
As the saying goes, what’s good for the goose is also good for the goose-face. Or something like that. I don’t remember exactly. Because I first heard that phrase on the grassless vacant lot when my sixth-grade head and ears were being crushed in a bigger kid’s forearm vise-lock (skruvstäd-lås).
Skruvstäd-lås is right. Ouch. But I learned well that smelly kid’s neighborhood lesson — and national lesson. Yes, I learned it well.
“No do-overs, ya little shit.”
This article was originally published in Little Village issue 216.