Of Flying Pigs and Pixie Dust

When I was five, I believed I could fly. I watched “Peter Pan” and I believed. Truly. After all,  I’d saved TinkerBell any number of times with my heroic clapping. “Tink”was real … to me, anyway.

I gathered pixie dust out of my pockets (AKA “pocket lint”) and sprinkled it on to my fair-haired head. I climbed atop my dad’s dresser (“Chester Drawers”) that was taller than I was. Then I jumped off.

I didn’t fly.

Belief wasn’t the problem, so the pixie dust — or its application — was defective. Perhaps “pixie dust” was really “navel lint.” Nope. I jumped and failed. How about “glitter?” Nope. Multiple failures. Earth always sucked me earthward. Finally I  got it: I couldn’t fly, no matter how much I believed.

Belief wasn’t enough. Practice didn’t help. Various modalities of pocket lint didn’t work. “Real to me” didn’t equal reality.

Trump Supporters you know this; you know my five-year-old self couldn’t fly. Millions of you, good people, campaigned for Trump, voted for Trump and are trying to stick with Trump. The swamp does need draining, but septic systems are beneath him. Health care does need streamlining, but he’s only been a consumer of VIP care. He knows little.

Yet every day, Trump shows you he can’t do this job. Wake up, people.

Looking back, I realize I always just jumped. I never dived off the dresser. I didn’t want to break my neck, should the pixie dust prove faulty. Let’s not break our national neck believing in Trump.

He cannot bully … and hope be a leader. He cannot lie .. and hope to have credibility. He cannot insult groups of people … and expect them to adore him. He cannot recite the dark canon of Bannon … and lead us into light. He cannot spout simplistic solutions and run a complicated nation.

I forgive you, Trump Supporters. You had crappy choices. You made the best decision you could. Believing more won’t produce personal flight. Yelling louder won’t make Trump effective. Bash the media all you want, but you know … deep down … Trump’s not up to the job.

Speak up, now, before we all get hurt.

Trump can’t lead the free world by insulting a different nation every few days: the Brits, the Germans, the Irish, the Japanese, the Aussies, the Mexicans, the Chinese … it’s a Gaffe-o-Day. He’s squandering our international reputation. We’re a joke in the rest of the world in just 56 days! Where will we stand in the world after another 1404 days of him? Will there even be a world?

Trump’s ideas might work if we were all lily-white, vaguely-Presbyterian, rude billionaires. We aren’t. We are a spectrum of colors, of economic realities, of beliefs, even of sexuality. Every group in America dreams the American dream. You know the nation belongs to all of us, not just the people who think like you do. Trump doesn’t.

Governing this nation is messy. This nation runs on what works. Ideology is only a starting place; compromise is the process. You know a “deal” involves compromise, but Trump doesn’t, really. He understands business tantrums: tearing up contracts, stiffing contractors, bankruptcy. You know he’s not a good businessman.

You know belligerent ignorance didn’t work for Mao any more than it works for the ghetto kid. You know better decisions come from briefing books, not conspiracy TV. You know this will end badly. Trump doesn’t.

Trump is never wrong so he can’t learn from his errors. But you know his ethics are wrong; you know  he benefits every time he goes to Mar-a-Lago, whether it’s just from publicity (or in booking rooms for the Secret Service). You know denial of climate change is wrong; you  know our weather is wilder. You know he’s wrong to gut the EPA; you know our water and air are cleaner than 47 years ago (even though they aren’t yet clean, clean). You know it’s wrong to murder Big Bird and Lady Mary Crawley.

If he’s not failing now, what constitutes failure? Nuclear war? You know you don’t want that.

Complex problems often defy simple solutions. Belief dusted with pocket pixie dust was a simple, even enchanting, recipe for flight. But it didn’t work.  Flight is a “temporary override” of gravity requiring one to manage the four forces of flight:  lift, thrust, drag, and weight.  Gravity always wins in the end. Trump supporters, you know that. Trump doesn’t.

Trump Supporters, please climb down off the dresser. Take Donald with you. Tell everyone, including Donald, that, while jumping is dangerous, diving is worse. If a supporter breaks a neck, you know we’re not going to let him die. Even if he chose not to buy healthcare. You know we’ll all foot his bill.  Like it or not, you know we’re all in this national family together.  If you want rugged independence, you know you’ll have to buy island in the middle of an ocean.

Will Trump be right some the time? Sure. Even a blind pig stumbles across an acorn now and again. But we can’t have a blind pig in the White House. Even if you do believe.

Trump just can’t fly.

You know that.