Yikes, readers, I’ve been more or less watching the train wreck (it’s so old time-y that you can’t really call it a car wreck) in St. Paul for the last few days, and you know who I feel really really bad for?
Not Bristol Farms Palin, although lord knows between her horrendous moniker and her upcoming shotgun wedding, there is quite a bit to prod my sympathy there. To say nothing of the incomprehensible selfishness of her parents, who have, if their so-called “moral” stances are not political lies, denied her knowledge and access to birth control, and with predictable results. Christ, I wish all “social conservative” parents everywhere would wake up and realize that to subject another human being to potentially harmful consequences in order to bolster a world view that by its very nature must has been manufactured out of their own personal whole cloth, is the height of self-centered arrogance, and is the very opposite of loving parenting. Yes, there, I said it. Parents who don’t teach their children about birth control are bad parents.
But back to my point. Who I really, really feel sorry for is Bridget McCain.
Can you imagine, first of all, that you belong to this family?
They’re all sunny-looking and blue-eyed and thin.
You have braces. Serious braces.
Your mother apparently allows you to appear in public in horrible tiered skirts that do nothing for your figure.
You’re vaguely aware that being referred to as “black” by Karl Rove operatives was a factor in your adopted father’s loss in the South Carolina primary (stay classy, South Carolina!) in 2000.
And now, the story of your adoption by the rich white lady from Mother Theresa’s orphanage in Bangladesh is being repeated by Republican campaign staffers every damn day.
You attend your daddy’s convention. And your adoption is mentioned in a movie about your mom’s life. The circumstances of your inclusion into the family are supposed to make people think that your parents are benevolent, and that you were needy.
Then your mother speaks, and she too recounts the story of your rescue and adoption.
In front of the whole world, she says this:
“But then I visited an orphanage begun by Mother Teresa, and two very sick little girls captured my heart. There was something I could do. I could take them home. And so I did.”
And she pauses for applause.
She pauses for the applause that she knows will come from the people that wish to show the rich white lady that they approve of her benevolence.
And then she says “Today both of those girls are healthy and happy. And one of them you just met: our beautiful daughter, Bridget.”
And then all the directors of all the news shows cut to you. Your picture fills the television screens in millions of homes around the world.
You. The recipient of this lady’s largess.
You. Poor Bangladeshi baby with the cleft palate so badly in need in surgery.
You. The McCain family charity case, being trotted out for political purposes.
How does it feel, Bridget, being constantly reminded that you are the adopted one, the one they took in out of the goodness of their hearts?
I imagine it feels, if you are honest with yourself, pretty shitty.
Let me just say to you, Bridget, and you might not believe this now, but you are the attractive one in your family. The McCain children are all so bland and predictably pretty! But you, you are interesting looking, and that is so much more valuable. You’ll see. You will grow into a breathtaking dark-eyed beauty, while they will never be better looking than they were in their teens.
Try not to let the Republicans get you down, sweetie. And when you’re older, feel free to look me up, because I bet you’ll also be the only really interesting kid in the family, too.
Oh, and bring one of your mother’s credit cards. We’ll go shopping.