The Time I Met Nancy Reagan
I was born into a very Republican household. My dad loved Nixon to his last dying day, convinced that Tricky Dick had done nothing that everyone else in that position hadn’t done before. “He just got caught” he told me over and over again. He also insisted that Watergate was nothing but a Democratic set up.
Each day I would come home from class and he would ask me the same snarky question, “How were things at Che Guevara High School?” It drove me nuts because I had no idea what he was talking about back then though I was sure it was some sort of insult even if I wasn't sure who it was directed towards.
As often happens in a family, my political leanings developed in the opposite direction making Thanksgiving an explosive yearly event.
I disagree with a lot of politicos but there are very few politicians I have really disliked, but I really did disliked Ronald Reagan. I hated his war with the Contras, I hated his firing of the air traffic control workers; I hated his cut and run in Lebanon. There was Oliver North and the arms for hostages, James Watts’ rape of the environment, Michael Deaver and John Poindexter, and the other 134 people convicted of crimes from his administration who no one remembers because they think he was some sort of Saint, but you know who topped my hatred list? Nancy. Skinny little Nancy Reagan, the woman who fought for the “war on drugs” and who made ridiculously harsh jail sentences palatable to the country. No doubt she got this policy insight from her weekly meeting with her dumb ass astrologer.
During Ronald’s eight year teflon reign, we always heard from the media how he called her “Mommy”, and that they had a love affair for the ages. Thanks for that “20/20”. Thanks Barbara Walters. Puke.
Just the sight of Nancy’s pencil thin body on my TV nauseated me. It was involuntary. Like when I see Adam Sandler or George W. Hate just wells up in me. I know you should never dislike another human this much, but I really really did.
About 10 years ago, I was in Beverly Hills and I walked into some variety store a block or so off Rodeo Drive. Parked in front were 3 big black SUVs with government plates. They were all parked illegally because, of course, they could. Two guys, both white about 6’4” were guarding the front door. They had spit shined black shoes, short hair, and earpieces. They stood legs apart and stared off into the space directly in front of them. It was easy to tell they were secret service but I couldn’t figure what the heck would bring them to Beverly Hills on a Saturday afternoon.
I walked in and there she was, not 10 feet from me, the skinny she-devil herself. Ridiculously thin with a large head, the matron of the underworld was front and center disguised as a kindly frail old woman getting supplies.
I observed the situation. The succubus was standing before me. Just then, a kid, maybe 16 years old ran from the back room with a large carton of bottled water, tripping and dropping the carton on the floor. Clearly nervous and deferential, he remained on the floor crawling over to the box. He ripped open the top pulling out a bottle of water, “Is this okay Mrs. Reagan? Is the water okay?”
Mrs. Reagan looked at that boy with some sympathy and as sweetly as she could she said, “It’s just water. It is fine” and instructed the secret service guys inside the store to help the boy up and pick up the carton.
I admit, not the response I would have expected from someone I spent so much energy disliking.
I went to the back of the store and grabbed whatever it was I needed, lets say cat food and condoms, and I walked toward the front of the store.
I arrived at the counter just in time to sidle up to Nancy. I could have strangled her right there. I’m sure she had bones like a bird. It would have been over in seconds. Anyway, she looked over at me and said, “Hello”.
Hello! Hello? What the hell? I didn’t want her even talking to me. I had been waiting so long for this day to put her in her place, so I gathered my courage and I let her have it…
“How is Ronnie doing?” I had no idea where that question came from.
“It is very hard" she said. “It is a hard thing to go through."
Suddenly, the focus of my hatred was nothing more than an old woman going through exactly what my Mom had.
“I know, My Dad had Alzheimers and my Mom took care of him.”
She came very close to me, within strangling distance. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Your Mom is a very brave woman, give her my best.”
All I could think was “Fuck you Nancy Reagan, Fuck you for being so nice and kind when I really wanted to hate you.”
So there you have it. Reality crept into my hatred of Nancy Reagan and I left thinking that she seemed really nice and that I had to remember that my emotions about celebs and politicos are all manufactured and delivered through the lens of the media.
Still, I think it is okay that I hate Trump.
Each day I would come home from class and he would ask me the same snarky question, “How were things at Che Guevara High School?” It drove me nuts because I had no idea what he was talking about back then though I was sure it was some sort of insult even if I wasn't sure who it was directed towards.
As often happens in a family, my political leanings developed in the opposite direction making Thanksgiving an explosive yearly event.
I disagree with a lot of politicos but there are very few politicians I have really disliked, but I really did disliked Ronald Reagan. I hated his war with the Contras, I hated his firing of the air traffic control workers; I hated his cut and run in Lebanon. There was Oliver North and the arms for hostages, James Watts’ rape of the environment, Michael Deaver and John Poindexter, and the other 134 people convicted of crimes from his administration who no one remembers because they think he was some sort of Saint, but you know who topped my hatred list? Nancy. Skinny little Nancy Reagan, the woman who fought for the “war on drugs” and who made ridiculously harsh jail sentences palatable to the country. No doubt she got this policy insight from her weekly meeting with her dumb ass astrologer.
During Ronald’s eight year teflon reign, we always heard from the media how he called her “Mommy”, and that they had a love affair for the ages. Thanks for that “20/20”. Thanks Barbara Walters. Puke.
Just the sight of Nancy’s pencil thin body on my TV nauseated me. It was involuntary. Like when I see Adam Sandler or George W. Hate just wells up in me. I know you should never dislike another human this much, but I really really did.
About 10 years ago, I was in Beverly Hills and I walked into some variety store a block or so off Rodeo Drive. Parked in front were 3 big black SUVs with government plates. They were all parked illegally because, of course, they could. Two guys, both white about 6’4” were guarding the front door. They had spit shined black shoes, short hair, and earpieces. They stood legs apart and stared off into the space directly in front of them. It was easy to tell they were secret service but I couldn’t figure what the heck would bring them to Beverly Hills on a Saturday afternoon.
I walked in and there she was, not 10 feet from me, the skinny she-devil herself. Ridiculously thin with a large head, the matron of the underworld was front and center disguised as a kindly frail old woman getting supplies.
I observed the situation. The succubus was standing before me. Just then, a kid, maybe 16 years old ran from the back room with a large carton of bottled water, tripping and dropping the carton on the floor. Clearly nervous and deferential, he remained on the floor crawling over to the box. He ripped open the top pulling out a bottle of water, “Is this okay Mrs. Reagan? Is the water okay?”
Mrs. Reagan looked at that boy with some sympathy and as sweetly as she could she said, “It’s just water. It is fine” and instructed the secret service guys inside the store to help the boy up and pick up the carton.
I admit, not the response I would have expected from someone I spent so much energy disliking.
I went to the back of the store and grabbed whatever it was I needed, lets say cat food and condoms, and I walked toward the front of the store.
I arrived at the counter just in time to sidle up to Nancy. I could have strangled her right there. I’m sure she had bones like a bird. It would have been over in seconds. Anyway, she looked over at me and said, “Hello”.
Hello! Hello? What the hell? I didn’t want her even talking to me. I had been waiting so long for this day to put her in her place, so I gathered my courage and I let her have it…
“How is Ronnie doing?” I had no idea where that question came from.
“It is very hard" she said. “It is a hard thing to go through."
Suddenly, the focus of my hatred was nothing more than an old woman going through exactly what my Mom had.
“I know, My Dad had Alzheimers and my Mom took care of him.”
She came very close to me, within strangling distance. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Your Mom is a very brave woman, give her my best.”
All I could think was “Fuck you Nancy Reagan, Fuck you for being so nice and kind when I really wanted to hate you.”
So there you have it. Reality crept into my hatred of Nancy Reagan and I left thinking that she seemed really nice and that I had to remember that my emotions about celebs and politicos are all manufactured and delivered through the lens of the media.
Still, I think it is okay that I hate Trump.