Dear General Washington,
You’re worse than a rock star.
We have all heard your praises over and over again. Frankly, we’re all bored to tears with stories of your morality. I would like to hear more about how many cherries were on that tree you cut, or how much you brushed your teeth. How many women were you with before Martha?
Sometimes I hear your name and see your picture more than I do that of my own family. Quarters, dollar bills (admittedly, harder to come by lately), bank names, Mount Rushmore, portraits on stamps, etc., etc. Talk about overexposure! Thank God I don’t live in your eponymous city or state. I think I’d go nuts!
You have the fame of a rock icon, but no song to go with it. You weren’t a writer. I love good writing. You weren’t a dad. I live for my kids. You didn’t paint. I haunt art museums (which, by the way, is loaded with more portraits of you than anyone else).
Yet somehow you are on my mind, and I can’t shake you off.
Icy river water on Christmas Day. Frostbitten soldiers wearing rags. Battles against England, the Darth Vader of Taxation. Personal loans of spirit and cash.
When they offered you the crown, you turned it down….you turned it down. They begged. You reminded all why you had fought.
And that is why I guess I can love you in spite of your perfection.
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I just love the take - and the tone - of this. Really original. Really perfectly written. Excellent use of rhythm - it reads like a poem, just carrying me along. (btw, I had a hard time choosing between this one & Excuses, which was also wonderful!)
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