Years ago, when I was a teen, you could pick up a comic book at the local soda fountain, or in my case, the pharmacy counter, which was the coolest hangout for young kids of middle school age. It was common to buy the latest Superman comic for pocket change, spend some time reading it at the soda fountain just before supper and do some serious giggling, while spinning around on the tall, fountain stools. If my girlfriends and I were lucky enough, one of our boyfriends, who always tagged along behind us walking home from school, would offer to buy us a fruit-flavored-phosphate soda, for the nominal fee of 15 cents. Sipping on sodas and giddily being the naïve girls we were, we would daydream about how Superman would make the best kind of boyfriend or husband possible. He was strong, gloriously handsome, had great pecks, good abs, and, as far as we could tell, was not all brawn, but had brains, also.
I was pretty convinced, after having my head and heart absorbed in fantasy, at such a tender and impressionable age, that any one of my superheroes would turn the next corner, scoop up my heavy schoolbooks and offer to give me a ride home from the soda fountain on his white stallion. However, just about the time that my hero, Dick Tracy, would stroll by, I was sure he would catch me pulling up my knee socks that managed to droop around my ankles and cover the tops of my saddle oxfords. Then, all of a sudden, red faced and totally embarrassed by that thought, the clock in the town square would strike 12, I would suddenly wake up, as from a fairy-tale dream, and find my Cinderella slippers didn’t fit anymore, Superman had succumbed to Kryptonite, Dr. Seuss revealed as a fraud and Dick Tracy was just another dime store super sleuth not worth a plug nickel. Life would revert back to a mundane Tuesday afternoon on a school day; but at least I was getting well schooled in the folly of fiction.
Breaking up is hard to do, especially when your fantasy man has touched your vulnerabilities and hopes– and given this girl’s damsel-in-distress nature– a much-needed hug. As for our collective boyfriends, Dick Tracy and Superman, sadly, they were not the super men-of-steel we thought, but pimple-faced phonies trying to self-identify as knights in white satin. The fantasy bubble had to explode. Time to put Superman back on the shelf, get home, and get busy doing my homework.
That’s what a kid’s life is all about—the struggle of fantasy versus reality. Too bad; girls still grow up believing in lover-boy fiction.
Take the ubiquitous Trump, for example; he is six degrees hotter than Kevin Bacon is, and the new super-“gene” of Generations X and Y, who has risen from the ashes caused by his predecessor. Is it any wonder we get all dreamy-eyed when it comes to believing in fantasy? We “do” need another hero. However, we have only political soda jerks serving noxious Kool-Aid to deceived plebeians. As “God Save the Queen” is a slogan for Britain, we deserve one, too: “God Deliver Us from this Benighted King;” he’s full of trite, hackneyed platitudes and false promises that merely assuage the masses temporarily.
Does The Donald, the rise of a new Phoenix, orchestrate this new phenomenon: The Movement? Of course he does. He is self-funded, self-absorbed, his own man, and, in his own words, listens to himself and has a very big brain. There is no other Wizard in sight–only The Donald of all trades.
No mere human can slip the bonds of the surly earth, walk on water, leap tall buildings at a single bound and remain a part of “plausible reality.”
We are falsely being promised a weekend at Bernie’s, a cat in every hat, and “fair trade policies” that will still amount to little more than ”my chocolate chip cookies for your pimped-up Cadillac.” Something’s gotta give — starting with fantasy– I hope!
Now, with the “odd man,” Ted Cruz, out of the picture, there is no such thing as hypothesis any more, no provisional conjecture anywhere in sight.
We now posit (to place firmly into position) the very scary thought of a Trump dynasty. All speculations have ceased, are off the table– and the “Star Wars” battle, with the Queen of Hearts, is about to burst onto center stage.
The thought of living through this nightmare gives me a nauseous feeling; I’m sure I will sit this one out. After all, God is still on His throne, and He declares–“My counsel shall stand, and I will do all My pleasure” (Isa. 46:10); “He doeth according to His will in the army of heaven, and the inhabitants of the earth: and none can stay His hand” (Dan. 4:35). “And he changeth the times and the seasons: he removeth kings, and setteth up kings: he giveth wisdom unto the wise, and knowledge to them that know understanding.” (Daniel 2:21).
Politicians are humans — all-too-fallen humans–.