From: gwb
To: Hank Blakely
Sent: Monday, August 20, 2001
Subject: Hammered again
 
 
Well, I did it again, only it hurt more this time.
 
A few days ago I was up at the Waco Habitat for Humanity, once more poundin' nails for the Lord. They call me "Four-Hammer George", y' know. Well, actually, I call me that, but it's pretty near the same thing, 'cause in a way I am the nation. The French got a way a' puttin' that: "Later, says me", or some such thing. I know, it don't make sense to me neither, but that's the French for you.
 
What happened was, I dropped my hammer, and was reachin' for it when I accidental stepped on this floor board, and it come down on my finger. Man! There was blood ever'where! Mel Martinez managed to get me calmed down after a while, and then told ever'body that "someone" musta dropped the board on me. Which is silly, a' course, cause if it had a' been, the Secret Service would a' shot him or somethin'.
 
Mel's quick thinkin' saved me some embarrassment though. when we got back and Laura saw the bloody bandage, she got all disappointed, and said, "Oh, George, not again!"
 
A' course she was meanin' about a month ago, when Poppy and Jeb and me was celebratin' my birthday in a day of golf. Jeb had been raggin' me all day, and at one point I decided to let him admire my middle finger, only I kept my hand down so the cameras wouldn't pick it up. Unfortunately, Jeb's golf cart was too close, and I got a smashed pinkie outta it. A' course, Jeb almost laughed himself into a stroke.
 
Later, at dinner, Laura said she was beginnin' to wonder if maybe it wasn't some kinda psychological, and Jeb said that couldn't be, "for obvious reasons". Which I mighta let pass, except next he said I ought a' find some safe place to keep my fingers, and then suggested a likely location.
 
So, next thing, we was flingin' mash potatoes at each other, and next we was tusslin' on the floor until Laura come in and broke it up. Which it's a good thing she did, 'cause I think we was that close to slippin' over the edge of fun into serious. Jeb's been in my face quite regular lately, and there ain't nothin' about that that I like.
 
But even with my finger tragedy and all, I do love workin' at the Habitat. It makes me feel good to get out in the open air, leave behind the burdens a' office, and blend in with the common man - just the common man and me, a few Secret Service, five or six military attachers, and about a half hundred or so media people. Gives me a chance to get away from it all.
 
Gives me a chance to think, too. Like this time it occurred to me how buildin' a house and buildin' a nation is very much alike each other. See, just like a house, a nation's gotta have a good, solid foundation and a sturdy framework to build on.
 
Jeb says I didn't give my girls a proper foundation. Says I wasn't around 'em enough when they was little. So now he's Mr. Big Child-Rearin' Expert - I don't think.
 
Anyhow, America's foundation and framework is our strong religious fundamentals, which is anchored by our four great faiths: Christianity, Judaicy, Catholicy, and Other.
 
Things was pretty easy, religion-wise, in our early days. Ever'body who was here was pure Christian, a' course - 'cept the Indians, who didn't have no spiritual trainin'. And 'round then there wasn't no Catholics or Judaics to be persecuted, so they had to wait 'til later to get their turn.
 
Y' know? Seems to me Jeb's always got some kinda fancy theory about what's wrong with me. Wonder what kinda theory he's got about why he ain't President.
 
Now, in this framework we got our four walls, which is our two mighty oceans to our left and right, and our neighbors, Canada and Mexico, above and below us. Now, some might argue that our neighbors don't properly constituent walls, 'cause we're all part a' the same continent land mess. Which is very good for them, 'cause, while ever'body in the world wants to be just like America, Canada and Mexico got a leg up on 'em 'cause they're right next to us.
 
But I guess you'd have to say that in a way Canada is almost another state, 'cept it's got a queen, two different languages, a different government system, and is more liberal - otherwise it's just like us. Mexico is just like us too, 'cept for the language, the government, the poverty, and the fact that ever'body's brown.
 
And of course our walls ain't so much "borders" as they is what scientific folk call "semi-permeable membranes" (Dick C taught me that one. I use it alla time now). Ever' year, lot's a' new guest citizens come here quietly from Mexico so they can take jobs that our citizens kinda lost interest in. So, in a way, Mexico is like a big temp agency.
 
I don't know how many folk come here quietly from Canada. Seems to me for a while there it was runnin' the other way.
 
And the floor and roof 'a our house is God's own rich soil and green growth, and our own "spacious skies". But we can't take very much credit for that.
 
You know what's the worst thing about Jeb? It's all those smartass cracks he's always makin' about other people - by which I mean me. He thinks he's the smartest person in the family. What's really aggravatin' is so does ever'body else in the family. Even when we was kids, with all them years between us; all them squeaky-voiced ladies was always sayin' "Oh your little brother is so smart! I guess he's the one to watch!", or "If only you was more like your little brother". Made me sick.
 
Now, some people says America's a big meltin' pot, but it ain't no such thing, 'cause we ain't all that mixed. No, it's more like a big boardin' house, where ever'body lives in his own room. Some times we meet in the kitchen, or the dinin' room, or the family room to watch TV, but then it's right back to our own rooms. And we don't visit much, neither.
 
Some people, a' course, get to stay mostly in the livin' room and parlor, but in different parts.
 
What really gets me is how Jeb comes off like he's got this big morale superiority over me. Well, he's just another politician, is all he is. I guess the Florida election proved that. And that ain't all, not by a long shot. If I was to tell half the stuff I know, Janet Reno wouldn't need to run for Governor, she'd win on the write-in.
 
Now, the basement's where we keep the crazy uncles and the termites. That's where you find your Ku Klux Klans, your Farrakhans, your Kahanes, your Kaczinsky's, your McVeighs, your Mansons, and a whole lotta others who we'd be better off if they was under the basement.
 
Okay, Jeb. You're so damn morale, tell us a little more about Ms. Henderson, why don't you - 'specially her Playboy days, or about your dealin's with Señor Recarey, or, for that matter Columba's big shoppin' trips? Wonder if Columba got any idea what's goin' on with Jeb? If she does she don't say nothin' - which is the proper thing for a politic wife. You don't see me givin' Laura cause to worry about that kinda thing. I mean since I found Jesus and all.
 
Now, the attic's where we keep all our memories and keepsakes, such as Old Glory, George Washington, Patrick Henry, Tom Jefferson (if you're willin' to overlook a few youthful indiscretions) Abe Lincoln, and such. 'Course, they ain't all necessarily good memories: Manzanar, Rosewood, Oklahoma, and a lotta bad stuff done by folks dressed in bed-clothes, for example. But fortunately those memories are outta my sight and outta my mind.
 
So, all and all, America's a good, strong-built house - just about perfect the way it is. You'd have to be a pretty big fool to mess that up.
 
But I guess Jeb would have somethin' smart to say about that, too.
 
Your constructionist pal,
 
W