Sitting at my gate waiting for my late plane to arrive. I pop in earbuds and click on a song my mother introduced me to: The Joke, by Brandie Carlisle. The melody rolls over a river of sadness then rises and roars as Carlisle calls forth abused people: the bullied boy, the dominated sister, the exhausted but determined immigrant mother carrying a baby on her back in the desert. The joke is on the ones who laugh at you now. “Let them laugh,” Carlisle cries!
I remember how my mother was bullied as a little girl. So, was I. It strikes me that she understands me on a level I didn’t know. And she gets the bullied immigrant mother on a level I didn’t know.
Last night I watched Maddow as Breaking News took over the broadcast. A whistleblower in the Intelligence community alerted authorities that 45 recently made an alarming promise to a foreign leader (likely Putin). The formal complaint went through all channels until it reached the White House. There it was buried.
Something in me broke. I wept on my couch. We are a nation taking punch after punch by a bully. And the institutions established to protect us are failing us.
Tears flowed.
Why do people have to bully?
What is stopping us from standing up and reclaiming our dignity?
Carlisle says: “Let them laugh while they can! … The joke’s on them!”
Yes.
Laugh while you can, Trump.
Laugh while you can, Barr.
Laugh while you can, McConnell.
November 2020. The joke will be on you.
I love my mother.
