by Christine Merser
I used to be rich. Or, I should say I was married to someone who was rich. A long time ago. Forty years ago. After we got married, I hired a couple from Argentina, new to the country, and hungry for the future they saw for themselves based on the opportunities our country offered. They were lovely.
We sponsored them. They lived in a roomette on another floor in our Central Park West apartment building. She was probably twenty, and he was a year or two older. She was in charge. They were fast learners. She cooked and cleaned, and he drove for H2 (second husband) and myself.
One day she came to me, terrified. She was pregnant and wasn’t ready. I helped her get what she wanted, and they continued working and building their life. They started a company sending used computers to Argentina and selling them there. They did well, and now have a home in Florida, a daughter just graduating college, and a son in school.
She has reached out a number of times over the years to say that without us... and once to ask if he could come up and drive for H2 or myself; they were in difficult financial straits.
For some reason, I went to her Facebook page, and I stopped short. I kept looking at it, trying to figure it out. Was she really saying DT should win? That the immigration problem was beyond the scope of Harris' capability?
I know I have agency with her.
Basically, here are her responses to my outreach:
Kamala hasn’t shown her that she can handle the job. DT has.
My children are citizens. They are coveted by DT.
No answer to her daughter having the same opportunity she did to have a family when she is ready.
Kamala has had three and a half years. What’s she done?
(Yes, yes, yes, I pointed out that she is not the president, and that DT had four years as president. Puh-lease... I’m not an idiot.)
And it continued.
I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t believe it. And, in that moment, I realized that this has nothing to do with any reality. (Yes, yes, yes, I have known that, but this was different. This person is loathed by DT, and she was speaking like she had not come up the hard way.)
I used to know someone who was second-generation Irish, grew up in abject poverty in the Bronx, and made it good. His friends from the Irish community (his posse) shocked him by forgetting where they came from as well. He couldn’t understand it.
In the end, I took a day or two and then unfriended her. Done and done. But I want to understand the psychology behind her. Of all people. I’ll get back to you on this.
When I didn’t know these people personally, it was easier to think they were just stupid, uninformed, or had eaten too much fast food and their neurological system was haywire.
I’m on the case. I swear I will not rest until I figure it out. And, I’m deeply saddened. Deeply.
God bless America, and I beg those of you who haven’t been voting to vote. I beg those of you who know newly qualified humans to beg them to go to the polls. And, on the rest of this, I’ll get back to you.