I don't know the direction this note will go. My mind hasn't given me a break from a discordant feeling since yesterday, similar to the one you felt on the first Christmas Eve after learning that Santa Claus isn't real.
I opened a book but found that my lack of focus forced me to read every paragraph twice. So I dropped the book, turned on Claire de Lune, and tried to clean my apartment. During the sixth repetition of the song, I found myself pacing the room with a stack of gym clothes in my hands. That's when I sat down and started to write. I hope the words loosen whatever is clogging my brain.
I haven't written anything in a while. I need to amend that: I haven't typed anything in a while. I keep a journal in which I push my pen up and down to create my letters. I cross out ill-fitting words and manipulate letters when I mess up. Writing each word gives me time to think about the next word, and allows my brain to organize sentences more fully as I write their predecessors. Typing makes words come and go in a blink, which allows only a blink to assemble my thoughts. I can't churn thoughts out like jelly beans from an assembly line.
Yesterday I saw Jon Huntsman declare his candidacy for President of the United States. Let me preface this by saying that I like Jon Huntsman. He seems like a true statesman cut from the same cloth as a hero of mine, Clemens Von Metternich--a quality lacked by recent Presidents. He exudes pragmatism. I still can't say if he will inspire Americans. But he has already inspired me with his assertion that "the question each of us wants the voters to answer is who will be the better president, not who is the better American."
After he announced his candidacy, his family embraced him onstage. His wife and daughters looked beautiful in solid-colored dresses, and his adopted Chinese daughter waved an American flag. When they left the podium, Mr. Huntsman saw the cameras directed at him. He rose his hand and gave the standard, and slightly cliche, frozen wave to an invisible crowd. It was a great photo-op with New York City in the background. I thought about how this whole event was funded with family money made from the invention of the McDonald's Big Mac box. It doesn't get more American than that.
I watched as he walked under a tarp and sat across from Sean Hannity. Portable lights, bulky video cameras and discharging flash bulbs surrounded them as they discussed the announcement. I looked beyond their interview and, as the image of a billionaire presidential candidate and a nationally-recognized television personality blurred, a new scene came into focus.
About a hundred feet away, three fishermen stood on the harbor's edge. I watched one reach into a dirty white bucket and grab a live anchovy. He was meticulously inserting the hook through the fish's lower jaw so as to keep it alive to attract predators. My grandpa taught me how to do this on my first (and last) deep sea fishing trip when I was twelve. From him, I learned how to read where the tuna are, how to hook a fish when it hits, and how to fight it as I bring it in. But I was best at inserting the hook in the anchovy and puking incessantly. We sat on the boat's bow under the stars and he told me stories of when he quit high school to gut fish and bait lines on a fishing boat. He goes on walks with my mom in the mornings now and is starting to slow down. That last sentence was hard to write.
I watched the fisherman on the harbor's edge cast his line into the water, while another pulled his out and checked the bait. They laughed together. What were they laughing at? Maybe the man had patiently waited for a nibble for an hour, only to discover his bait escaped the hook when he casted. Maybe they joked about how they will be going hungry tonight, or how Lady Liberty needed to scare some fish their way. Maybe the beautifully overcast day, the light salty breeze, and the cityscape of New York City overcame them. They didn't even notice the event just to the right of them. They were too focused on anchovies and each other to care.
Hannity ended the interview after a couple of quick pictures. Mr. Huntsman, surrounded by reporters and photographers, walked towards the fishermen. Then he jumped in his black Escalade and his entourage left. I felt like Cindy Lou Who did when she catches the Grinch stealing her Christmas tree and asks, "Why?"
Why didn't he ask them how the fishing was?
Is it that he didn't notice or, worse, that he didn't care? He waved to an adoring throng of imaginary fans for the cliche "American President" photograph, yet didn't ask three fishermen about their luck. His video touts him as "preferring a greasy spoon to a linen table cloth," yet he bolted to the comfort and safety of his Escalade instead of to the fisherman's dirty buckets and smiling faces.
I know there are logistical issues and other circumstances that I'm not taking into account. Maybe he was late for another engagement, or he was instructed to go straight to the car. But he could have taken a minute to ask those fisherman how their day was going, and the type of fish they were chasing. Politicians are quick to label what is American and what is un-American, but they neglect to do things that are truly American, like asking, "How's the fishing?" to a few men with poles in the water.
I love this question. My wife and I were walking back from the Potomac River recently when we saw a fisherman on the water's edge. I asked him how the fishing was. He replied, "I can't complain. I just hope I can catch something as beautiful as your wife!" It made us laugh all the way home.
I don't know why watching Mr. Huntsman rush away had such an effect on me. Maybe I looked at the fishermen and saw my grandfather, in his faded blue jeans and T-shirt with a marlin swimming across the front, looking out over the ocean and saying old-man cliches like, "Even if we don't catch anything, this still beats the hell outta working," or "Always wear sunscreen so you don't look like me." Maybe, by ignoring these fishermen, Mr. Huntsman was ignoring my grandfather.
Like I said, I don't know why this had such an effect on me.
But now, for the first time in a little over twenty-four hours, I can read in peace.
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